


I Hate You a Little, a Lot, Passionately, Not at All

by YouRunWithTheWolves



Series: Tough Love [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alive Mama Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Bottom Derek, Bottom Stiles, College, Fluff and Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Derek, POV Laura, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouRunWithTheWolves/pseuds/YouRunWithTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura has a brother. He's a dick. So Laura gets herself a best friend.</p><p>He's also a dick.</p><p>or, Laura finds a new roommate to replace Isaac and Derek is <i>ecstatic</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I hate you...

**Author's Note:**

> Rating will change later on. Everybody's alive, basically.  
> (oh by the way, I still need a beta, so if you're willing to do it or know someone who is, could you hit me up in the comments, or on [tumblr](http://yourunwiththewolves.tumblr.com)? I do my best to read the chapters a hundred times over to find awful typos and grammatical errors but I always find some even after posting and that must suck for you guys so...)

“Laura!”

 

The voice is panicked, out of breath, and Laura flies out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped tightly around her, her hand clutching her toothbrush like a weapon.

 

“Laura, Laura, Laura! Oh my God, you have to help me,” Derek says, sweating like he just ran all the way up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Laura feels her heart drop.

 

“Derek are you okay, what's happening? What's wrong? What's going on?”

 

She's already pawing at her brother, checking for an injury, and he bats her hands away like a five year old getting too much attention from his grandma. “Where's my phone?” Laura goes on, hysterical, convinced she has to call either the police or an ambulance, judging by the crazed look on her brother's face.

 

“Would you stop?” Derek hisses, gripping her shoulders tightly. “This is serious!”

 

“What, what, what? What is it?” she asks, her heartbeat going out of control.

 

“There's this guy, he followed me home, I can't get rid of him, please help me,” Derek whispers, glancing at the front door like it might come alive and attack him.

 

Laura widens her eyes, already subtly looking for her phone again. “Oh my God,” she whispers back. “Is he dangerous? Did he threaten you? What did he look like? I'm calling the police.”

 

“What? Laura! No, you're not listening.”

 

“I am! There's a potential murderer behind our door!”

 

“I don't think he wants to kill me, he asked for my number and he kept talking and flirting and I tried to escape but I couldn't just tell him to go the fuck away, so I just made up some stupid excuse to come back home but he might have understood that he was allowed to come with me or something and Erica’s not answering her phone and now he just won't leave, and please, please, please, help!”

 

Laura listens to his tirade in silence, her hand slowly losing her death grip on the toothbrush. It's like the calm before the storm. Then, she unleashes the fury.

 

“Oh my fucking Lord, Derek!” she pushes him away from her and he tumbles on the couch, bewildered. “I thought it was an emergency you fucking idiot, you scared the shit out of me!”

 

She stomps to the front door, uncaring of her state of undress and opens it with such strength it goes crashing against the wall. There's a dude here, looking like a deer in the headlights, frozen, as if he's thinking that if he doesn't move, she might not see him. She's not some freaking dinosaur.

 

The guys stammers, “I'm so sorry, I didn't know he had a girlfriend, he didn't say – I'm...”

 

She slams the door in his face. Derek is still sprawled on the couch, where she left him. He's looking at her like she's gone insane, and Laura wants to tell him to go fuck himself because she just saved his ass. Again. She peeks through the peephole and sees the guys is still standing there, utterly lost. It's time to make him move.

 

She turns back to Derek, and he's still saying nothing. She's pretty sure if she starts yelling at him, he'll just wait until it stops. It's like his defense mechanism, he goes very still and waits for the screaming to die down. She needs to make it look more real. She grabs one of her sneakers from the floor near the door and hurls it in his general direction with all her might.

 

It slams itself square in Derek's chest. He jumps to his feet, with a loud scream.

 

“Ow! Are you fucking nuts? You could have – You're so –”

 

But Laura keeps throwing shoes at him – she's going to run out of them soon – and he tries to dodge them. It's oddly cathartic. He continues to yell abuse at her, and when she's out of ammo, she turns back to the door to look at the guy. He's tripping over himself in the hallway, getting away from their apartment as fast as possible. Another victory for reigning champion Laura Hale.

 

She calmly makes her way back to the bathroom, panting a little from all the agitation.

 

“You'd better pick up all the shoes and put them back where they belong when I'm finished with my shower, or so help me.”

 

Derek just stares at her. She closes the bathroom door in his face.

 

  
***

 

“Stop it, you'd have done the same thing alright? He was hard to say no to.”

 

Laura is still laughing at him unattractively, and he's regretting asking for her help already. But Laura gets the job done, so he'll have to deal. Still, he'd rather have her throw her shoes at him again instead of just mocking him.

 

“Please, you're such a coward. I don't get you sometimes. You were like, the most popular guy at school, and now you're some sort of legend in college,” she says, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork, “you have like, three thousand friends on Facebook –”

 

“They're not all my friends,” he grumbles.

 

“Well half of that number wants you in their bed,” she points her forked chicken at him.“You're pathetic. I know you're not a caveman, you love being the guy everybody knows. I don't understand how you can come home looking like you're about to cry when all you had to say to this poor guy was 'sorry, but I'm not interested'. I mean, how hard is that?”

 

Derek scowls at his plate. It is hard. He just can't bring himself to do it. Flirting comes easily to him, but when it's time to move on, he can't deal with their doe-eyed expressions and their hopeful smiles and...

 

“Ugh,” he whines.

 

“Pathetic,” Laura repeats. “Oh, by the way, mom called.”

 

Derek straightens up in his chair.

 

“Uh oh.”

 

“Yeah, _uh oh_ is right. She yelled at me for half an hour because we still haven't found a new roommate to replace Isaac, and apparently we are being ungrateful and she doesn't want to pay half of our share of the rent anymore if we don't find another one soon.”

 

“Why did Isaac have to leave? Roommate hunting is the worst thing.”

 

“He finally moved in with his girlfriend, you should be happy or him.”

 

Derek finishes his food quickly, trying to escape to his room before Laura asks him what he knows she's going to ask him in three seconds.

 

He's barely out of the kitchen when he hears her call, “I put up an ad online this morning, you'll do the interview thingies with me. I'll give us one week to find a new one.”

 

He freezes near the counter top. Maybe he can pretend like he didn't hear that. Unlikely. Maybe he can say no.

 

“No.”

 

“Whatever, I've already received a couple or responses, just be home at 9 on Monday.”

 

Alright, new tactic.

 

“I have so many assignments to finish, Laura. I can't.”

 

“This excuse would have worked if I didn't know for a fact you were going out tonight. And I know you've got, like, five parties in the next few days. I know you're going to go. If you have enough free time to get shitfaced, you can meet some people for the apartment with me.”

 

Game over.

 

***

 

Derek, the fucker, finds a way to miss all the interviews she sets up with the potential roommates. She invites them in, and while the door is open, he just takes advantage of it and slips outside with a smug smile. She can't yell and run after him down the hall because that would make a bad impression and they both know it.

 

She comes home after work and he's not here when he knows they're waiting for that dude who wants to take a look at the place. She hides his phone and his keys so he can't leave the next day. So he just sits on the couch and sulks during the whole meeting with the New Potential Roommate of the Day, grunting and grumbling everytime he's being spoken to. He looks twelve, Laura wants to scream her frustration into a pillow.

 

She gives up sometime during the middle of the week. She's seen more than five persons who were interested but only one or two were acceptable. There was this one girl who kept laughing at everything she was saying even when it wasn't a joke. It was creepy. There was this guy who kept – honest to God – farting.

 

“Like it was no big deal!” she exclaims the same night, facing a doubled-over Derek. “Stop laughing, oh my God, I hate you!”

 

There was this guy, who was pretty decent, but a smoker, and Laura couldn't stand the smell. The other man she had seen last had been perfect from start to finish, but then, when she had walked him to the door, he’d started hitting on her and that was just not going to happen.

 

“I have to meet this guy tomorrow, but after that, I give up, Derek. You hear me? I'm doing all the work here, you'll have to pull your weight and find me a roommate.”

 

“I can't be here tomorrow –” he begins automatically.

 

“Whatever dude, I don't need you, cause next week, you'll be the one meeting them all.”

 

“Not if the guy you see tomorrow is a match,” he sing-songs.

 

Laura narrows her eyes at him. He will regret this.

 

***

 

Derek is regretting this. He comes home hungover on Friday morning and there's this... thing in the middle of his living room. He's tall, with messy brown hair and brown eyes. He flails and drops the box he had been carrying when he spots Derek. He vainly tries to make his way toward him, avoiding his cardboard boxes and the coffee table, stumbling and tripping over himself along the way and – he just looks like a puppet without strings. He nearly cracks his head against the wall in an attempt to shake his hand. Derek hates him instantaneously.

 

“Hey! I'm Stiles, your new roommate. I'm sorry for the mess, I'm just in the process of bringing everything in my room.”

 

Derek looks at all the boxes, overflowing with weird plaid shirts and many, many DVDs and CDs, absentmindedly returning the handshake. He can be well behaved... sometimes.

 

“Uh, Derek,” he grunts.

 

Stiles continues to throw his arms around him, babbling and just generally being too loud for Derek, who just wants to swallow three aspirins and sleep forever. Laura/Satan comes out of her room and beams when she sees the state he's in. She knows he's one conversation away from throwing up.

 

“Baby brother, I'm so glad you're home. Do you want some breakfast? I've made this big, fat, _greasy_ –”

 

“Don't,” Derek interrupts her, shaking his head slowly to dissipate his nausea.

 

“This is Stiles, he's the best. You'll love him. So sad you couldn't make it the other day to meet him...”

 

Stiles looks at the two of them with narrowed eyes. Laura just smiles wider and Derek knows he's being punished here. He doesn't know the extent of the punishment yet, but he knows Stiles is part of it.

 

“Uh...,” Stiles says intelligently. “What's going on?”

 

“Nothing, cupcake. I'll help you carry everything in your room.”

 

Stiles stands there for a second while she hauls boxes away from the living room. He mouths 'cupcake?' with a look of utter confusion on his face. Derek snorts and without saying another word, locks himself into his room and flops face first on the bed.

 

***

 

“Don't eat that, it's mine,” Stiles says from where he's hunched over the kitchen counter.

 

Derek stares at him until he looks up, smirks when he's got his full attention, and pointedly takes a bite of his sandwich.

 

“You're such a dick,” Stiles sighs.

 

He looks more than aggravated, but right now homework looks more important than starting a glaring contest with him apparently. Derek smiles around his food. He wins this round.

 

It's been six months since Stiles moved in, and Derek still hates him with passion. Stiles hates him too, so it's all good. Laura adores him. Sometimes Derek comes home to them cuddling on the couch watching Buffy. It's disconcerting, completely disgusting and absolutely unsurprising. Stiles is loud and he constantly looks like he's on speed. He doesn't talk too much, but he always has a snappy comeback to everything Derek says or does. Always. It's like he stores them somewhere in his weird brain. Seriously, he has one for _every_ situation. No matter how specific it is.

 

Derek is not even sure who started the hate war first. He just stopped and thought about it one day, when he was sitting in his bedroom with a beer and Stiles had just insulted his sexual prowess (“How would you know? You never had sex with me, you dork!” Derek had yelled and Stiles had flushed deep red before snapping back, “Wow, thanks for putting that image in my head, I’ll be over there, _puking_.”). He thought about it really hard and couldn't, for the life of him, understand who had started it first. It was like the chicken or the egg thing.

 

Either way, the result is that: each time Stiles so much as breathes in his vicinity, Derek either mocks him in one way or another or acts like Stiles is the most pathetic excuse for a human being he's ever met. Because he is. Stiles, in retaliation, always comes and bothers Derek at the strangest of times, always –-  _always_ figuring out exactly what to say to make Derek want to claw his own face off.

 

It’s rough and bloody and violent and terribly entertaining. Neither of them acts like it is -- entertaining that is -- but Derek knows better. Laura laughs at them sometimes, keeping score. But mostly she huffs and frowns, cuffs Stiles on the back of the head, and throws random objects at Derek when they get too mean.

 

“Don't you have somewhere to be? Don't you have some stupid party to go to?” Stiles says after a while.

 

“Aw, are you sad because nobody invites you to those parties you speak of?” Derek bites back, hoping on the counter next to him.

 

Stiles splutters.

 

“I have this thing to finish. You'll work for me one day. You'll regret all this passing out in weird corners with a drunk sorority girl drooling on you. Mark my words.”

 

“At least I have some girl on me.”

 

“Yeah, and she has to be _drunk_.”

 

Derek frowns.

 

“I don't do drunk girls.”

 

Stiles looks up from his essay, startled. Derek continues to scowl at him.

 

“Whatever, dude,” Stiles mumbles, looking back down at his laptop.

 

***

 

“Stiles!”

 

Laura jumps to her feet from the couch, ready to tackle Derek to the ground. She's done it a few times before, she recognizes that tone of voice. It's the “do not fuck with me I will obliterate you from existence” voice. Stiles has not made one move from where he's sitting, calm as a Buddhist monk. That's a sure sign he's definitely done something he shouldn't have.

 

Derek comes barreling through his bedroom door holding his favorite leather jacket in one hand.

 

“What did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles replies instantly, pressing further into the couch, hiding behind Laura.

 

She extends both of her hands to stop Derek from coming any closer.

 

“It's ruined,” he seethes, brandishing the piece of clothing like a weapon.

 

“Calm down,” Laura soothes, trying to gauge the extent of the damage.

 

There are scrapes and tears here and there. It smells really bad too.

 

“Scott came over here the other day to hitch a ride to the vet clinic. He found a puppy on the side of the road and he had nothing to wrap him up with. I grabbed the first thing I could and it –”

 

“–was my jacket? Really? Were you hiding all the way in my closet when it happened? Because that's where it was, you –”

 

“Hey, we saved a life! The little precious thing was scared and kinda clawed at your stupid jacket, but you should be glad this ugly thing served some purpose,” Stiles sniffs disdainfully, still safely behind Laura.

 

She has to apply more pressure against Derek when he tries to hurl himself at Stiles. “Stop, stop!”

 

Derek makes a frustrated noise and drops his ruined jacket on the floor before stomping out of the apartment. Laura flops back down on the couch and punches Stiles in the arm.

 

“You're such a little shit,” she says.

 

“He deserved it! When he saw me on campus the other day, he embarrassed me in front of like, the whole crowd. Lydia was there!”

 

Laura nods, “Yeah, he did mention that... He was pretty smug,” she amends. “But I remember he said it was revenge for this text you sent from his phone –”

 

“That was hilarious,” Stiles declares dismissively. “An I did save a puppy. I just picked the jacket really carefully.”

 

Laura hangs her head in defeat. “You two are impossible. You're really lucky you're my best friend because with the way you're treating my brother –”

 

Stiles flaps his hands around, and she dodges them as best as she can.

 

“What! How about how he treats _me_? He's been a dick since the beginning, and I have no idea why.”

 

“You're both dicks! You don't have to be dicks about it.”

 

“That doesn't make any kind of sense,” Stiles deadpans.

 

“It means,” Laura snarls, “that you could just hate each other in silence? Why don't you just ignore him? Why don't you act like the bigger man and let it go? You're both adults.”

 

“You don't understand, it's too late for that zen shit!” Stiles throws his arms up. “If I stop now, I lose. I won't lose to Derek fucking Hale.”

 

“But there's _nothing to win_ ,” she exclaims, exasperated.

 

Stiles shakes his head at her, like he's disappointed in her thickness. It's very patronizing, so Laura grabs a cushion and hits him in the face with it.

 

“Who started it anyway?”

 

“I honestly have no idea, but that is so not the point,” Stiles shrugs. “The point is – the point is...”

 

Laura levels him with a look. _The_ look. The “I'm judging you so hard right now that I am utterly insensitive to your bullshit and I am bored with your whole being, now” look. It is a carefully practiced stare that she has perfected over the last six months. Derek knows this one really well too.

 

Before Stiles can find what exactly the point is, a text comes through his phone, and Laura reads over his shoulder.

 

**You're gonna pay for the jacket. Literally. It cost me 350$, I really hope you have to go work at the burger place on 94th or something to pay for it.**

 

Stiles just snorts.

 

“I'm not gonna pay for it,” he says with a confident smile.

 

Another text makes his phone vibrate.

 

**Oh by the way, Lydia's looking very pretty tonight. I'm looking at her right now. This frat guy seems really interested in her. Jackson right?**

 

Stiles jumps to his feet, clutching at his phone.

 

“Oh, that is low,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

“Dude, she's not interested in you anyway, let it go.”

 

She doesn’t add that Derek left literally three minutes ago and it’s nearly impossible for him to be at some frat party.

 

“I know that,” he snaps. “It's just the principle of it. He knows I hate Jackson. He knows I like Lydia. It's mean.”

 

Laura snorts.

 

“Oh, come on! He's probably lying anyway, I don't think there's any party tonight.”

 

Stiles sits back down and turns off his phone.

 

“Whatever, I don't care.”

 

“That's my boy,” Laura cheers. “I thought Lydia was your friend now, anyway?”

 

“She is. We're friends. It's not awkward anymore, I just – I was putting her on this weird pedestal you know?”

 

“Oh, I _know_ ,” Laura huffs.

 

Stiles shoves her away.

 

“Whatever. She's not flawless to me anymore. I still like her though. She's fucking smart,” he says. “But Derek is a dick for reminding me I was head over heels for her, and reminding me she chose _Jackson_ – out of all the dudes she could choose – Jackson!”

 

Laura loops an arm around his shoulder. “She loves him. He loves her. Shut up about it already.”

 

“But he knows it's embarrassing me to think about how I was all over her. He just _knows_ – the fucker.”

 

“You're so cute,” she coos.

 

***

 

“He's so cute,” Erica says again, like Derek hasn't heard her the first time.

 

He huffs and ignores her, toying with his drink. She pokes him with the straw of her milkshake.

 

“He's your roommate, come on! Just give me his number or something, I'll do all the work.”

 

“You don't wanna date the guy, he's a fucking health hazard.”

 

“Derek, please. Just introduce me.”

 

Derek looks up from his drink, annoyed. Erica is so freaking pretty. She could do so much better. He doesn't get it.

 

“He's a standard nerd,” he warns.

 

“He can be my batman,” she shoots back, undeterred.

 

“But I hate him,” he whines.

 

“Are you jealous?” she asks suddenly, like she's just thought about it, smirking wickedly.

 

Derek glares at her.

 

“Of _you_?” he asks with all the disdain he can muster.

 

Erica recoils in her seat. But then her eyebrows climb up and she just looks like she's figured out the end of _Inception_.

 

“Actually... uh, I meant – jealous of _him_. As in, if I date him then I won't pay any more attention to you and you'll be grumpy. You know... jealous of him because you want me to yourself. _That_ kind of jealous.”

 

Derek stares some more, but that's just because he doesn't have anything to say to that. He clenches his jaw. He's about to snap at her that she's flattering herself when she smiles and cuts him off.

 

“It's interesting that your mind jumped to that conclusion, though.”

 

She looks thoughtful. Derek has no idea what's happening, he's trying really hard to look normal. Then he wonders why he has to try at all. He takes a sip of his coke. Everything's cool. He's cool.

  
“Come at the apartment tonight,” he says, finishing his drink. “He'll be there.”


	2. ... a little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd, sorry! Bear with me.

The night turns out to be be pretty enjoyable. Boyd is here too, at Laura's invitation. He keeps glancing at Erica, who's sitting really close to Stiles on the couch. Maybe this whole thing will turn in Derek's favor, because Stiles looks positively scared. He keeps trying to catch Laura's eyes, his own widening in alarm everytime Erica brushes her hand against his thigh.

 

Derek smirks. He's glad Stiles is not interested. There was no way he was going to do him a favor by introducing him to Erica. He just doesn't deserve her anyway. He's confirming Derek's suspicion that he's a fucking idiot because Erica is a bombshell and his best friend and he should praise her. Still, he clearly looks like he'd rather be anywhere else and Derek is throwing himself an inner party for playing a part in his discomfort.

 

“Want another beer?” Laura asks Stiles.

 

He's been drinking really fast as soon as Erica started to circle him like prey. Derek suspects it's because he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Amateur.

 

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims louder than necessary, and jumps to his feet. “I'll come with you.”

 

Erica sighs, and glances at Derek. She shakes her head. Derek shrugs in a “I told you so” kind of way.

 

“I'm so bored,” she says.

 

“I'm gonna head out soon, want a ride?” Boyd asks.

 

Smooth, Derek thinks. Erica smiles sweetly. She blushes even. Derek rolls his eyes.

 

“Okay.”

 

Stiles and Laura come back from the kitchen just as the front door closes on Boyd’s deep voice and Erica’s wide smile.

 

“Oh my fucking God,” Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and slumps on the couch next to Derek. “Your best friend is so, so –”

 

“Awesome?”

 

“ -- terrifying,” Stiles finishes.

 

Then he straightens up, narrowing his eyes at him.

 

“Did you do this on purpose to make me uncomfortable? You fucker, you did!”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Derek says in a neutral voice, taking a sip of his beer.

 

Technically, it's not even a lie.

 

“I can't believe you could lead her on like that. What if she was really into me and I broke her heart?” he says with a fake dramatic voice. “That's low, even for you.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes, exasperated. Like Stiles could break anybody's heart. “I didn't have to do anything,” he grumbles.

 

“What? What does that even mean?”

 

“She just thinks you're cute,” he says before he can think better of it, “she's been annoying me for weeks.”

 

He doesn't add that he was sure Stiles was going to fall for her immediately. Stiles gapes at him. Then he gapes at Laura, who's lying on her back on the other smaller couch.

 

“Did you know?” he asks her in this stupid disbelieving voice.

 

“No. But I'm pretty sure she just gave up on you, man. You looked like a kicked puppy the whole time she was flirting with you,” she laughs, a bit drunk.

 

Stiles is still looking a little wild, as if he's just realized his birthday is not actually on the day he thought it was.

 

“I'm cute?”

 

Derek snorts, takes another sip of his beer. “Believe me, I was surprised too,” he teases.

 

“I'm cute? Like, _cute_ cute?” he asks Laura again, completely ignoring Derek.

 

“Yesssss,” she slurs. “It's your moles.”

 

It's not _just_ the moles, but Derek can't help but look at them at their mention. They're sprinkled all over his damn face, probably his whole damn body. The thing is they make the skin look so soft, and maybe he just wants to touch to verify that fact and –

 

Wow, obviously, he's had a bit too much to drink. Stiles is still flapping his hands at Laura, offended she hasn’t told him all the ways in which he could be considered cute before. (“Tell me more, boost my ego, you unworthy friend! Dimples? What? I don’t even... My fucking hands? What are you blabbering about Laura, you’re drunk.”) Derek pointedly sets his unfinished beer on the table and glares at it like it offended his whole family.

 

***

 

“Boyd ditched me for a date with Erica,” Laura pouts.

 

“Wanna hang out instead?” Stiles suggests, looking up from his computer.

 

There’s a faint chatter in the library, their conversation melding away with the others, and Lydia is sitting next to him, absorbed in her book. Laura is half lying on the table, moaning pitifully.

 

“Meh, okay.”

 

“Woah, so much enthusiasm.”

 

Lydia suddenly snaps her book shut and declares, “We should hang out. Girl's night out. I'll pay for the drinks.”

 

Laura smiles at her with all her teeth. She likes her tone of finality. Laura doesn't have any choice in the matter, apparently. Lydia is cool.

 

“Fuck yeah.”

 

“What? You're both ditching _me_ , now?” Stiles frowns. “Derek is at home tonight, please, don't leave me alone with him. I have a feeling the Erica thing wasn't actually made to bother me and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop after the leather jacket incident...”

 

Lydia gets up. Laura imitates her, just to freak Stiles out a bit more.

 

“We don't care,” she says.

 

“Fine! But if I wake up tomorrow with no eyebrows or something, you –”

 

Lydia is already walking away so Laura trails after her, not listening to the end of his rant. Lydia loops an arm around hers and laughs.

 

“He's so dumb,” she says.

 

“I love him,” Laura replies.

 

“Yeah, me too.”

 

***

 

Derek sighs. He finished the damn essay. It's due in an hour. He rules. He quickly submits it online, and leans back in his chair. Time to relax now. The feeling of being free of any deadline is so good he contemplates going to sleep right here and there. He closes his eyes, stretches and –

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOO,” Stiles bellows from the living room. “Scott, I hate you so much. You can't use that –”

 

Derek opens his door furiously. He's secretly glad to have found something to occupy him. Stiles actually turned him into the guy that just waits for any opportunity to rant. This is Stiles's fault. It just is.

 

“Will you shut the hell up?”

 

“Hey man,” Scott greets him with a small smile.

 

Stiles just sneers at him. Derek grunts his own hello at Scott. He’s pretty much part of the landscape now. At first he thought him and Stiles were cousins wishing they were born brothers or something, but it turned out they were just friends. Like _friends_ , friends. When Scott’s around, Stiles forgets his favorite person is Laura. She’s jealous, but she can’t help but like Scott. Derek can’t help but like him, too, dammit. He tried to ignore him, mock him, hate him, but he just can’t. He’s like that annoying kid brother you secretly protect from bullies at school without him knowing because it would imply you care. Which Derek does not, alright? Derek will never tell anyone he likes Scott. Ever. Because he doesn’t. Obviously.

 

He opens the fridge and chooses the rest of pasta Stiles has stored earlier and was probably going to eat later. Not anymore. He sticks them in the microwave and looks over at the two friends playing video games. Stiles is oddly focused, even if still agitated, whereas Scott is nonchalantly leaning back on the couch, the controller hanging almost loosely in his hands between his knees.

 

“Dude!” Stiles protests at something Derek can't see on the screen.

 

“You really suck,” Scott says matter-of-factly.

 

“Shut up.”

 

Stiles is glancing warily at Derek, probably expecting him to say something to annoy him even more. But Derek just just smirks knowingly, certain it will put him on edge.

 

It does. He loses the game. Again.

 

“Alright, man, I have to go.”

 

“What, why?”

 

“My shift at the vet clinic starts in half an hour, I'm already late.”

 

Stiles groans and slumps on the cushions.

 

“Don't leave me,” he moans, dragging the last syllable pitifully. He's picking up on Laura's quirks, now.

 

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles is acting like he's going to murder him in his sleep or something. Please. He's got standards. And class. The microwave beeps just as Scott runs out the door, yelling his goodbyes at them. Derek takes his plate and sits at the counter.

 

“Hey, what's that sm – Derek!”

 

Derek shoves a mouthful of pasta in his mouth, and chews as innocently as he can.

 

“Why are you always eating my food?” Stiles asks, almost to himself, in a resigned tone of voice.

 

He gets up from the couch and sits in front of him. “Seriously, though. It's fucking pasta. Ten minutes in boiling water and it's done.”

 

“I like yours better,” Derek says automatically.

 

It's true. But he hadn't planned on saying that. It's almost like... a compliment. Or something. Oh, God. This is clearly the beginning of the end.

 

“You do?” Stiles looks confused; his eyes keep shifting, like he's resolving a complex equation in his head.

 

“Whatever,” Derek says, quickly.

 

 

Derek ends up watching some dumb movie Stiles chooses after his own dinner.

 

“It's either that or you go away. I'm not forcing you to watch this. You can go lock yourself up in your room.”

 

Derek stays just to be contrary. It's actually not that bad. And thirty minutes in, Derek decides he likes it. He'd rather give up on pizza forever than admit Stiles chose a good movie.

 

Stiles is making his knee jump up and down, an annoying habit he never seems to shake out. Derek’s eyes are drawn to his feet. He’s wearing mismatched socks. He rolls his eyes, annoyed by Stiles even when he's not doing anything. It's like a superpower, the guy could be infuriating Derek from the other side of the country.

 

An hour later, he turns to look at him and realizes he's fallen asleep. He's curled up against the arm of the couch and his lips are slightly parted. Derek turns off the TV and goes to bed.

 

He tosses and turns for five minutes before coming back to the living room where Stiles hasn't moved an inch. He grabs some fluffy covers Laura left on a chair and tosses them on his sleeping figure. Stiles snuffles and grips at the covers without waking up.

 

Derek goes back to sleep.

 

***

 

Stiles is patting his stomach, sprawled out on the couch, when he lets out the most pitiful moan Laura has ever heard.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” she says mildly without looking up from her computer.

 

“I shouldn’t have eaten all this candy, I’m feeling woozy.”

 

“I don’t care,” Laura mutters distractedly before backspacing the sentence she has just written.

 

“Now I’m not hungry anymore, and I had planned to eat pizza tonight.”

 

Laura looks up, frowning.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Pizza, Laura!” Stiles exclaims, outraged. “And I can’t eat it! Cause I’m about to throw up! This is the saddest day of my life.”

 

“You’re a moron,” Derek snaps from the kitchen.

 

 _Took the words right out of my mouth_ , Laura thinks to herself. Stiles doesn’t miss her smirk.

 

“Don’t side with _Derek_.” He scrunches up his face like she just mentioned poop at the dinner table. Derek is poop, now. Wonderful.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” she says.

 

“Derek is right there,” Derek says.

 

“Fuck off,” Stiles concludes.

 

Laura shakes her head and goes back to her thesis. The argument between Stiles and her brother goes on in the background and she sighs happily. She’s so used to working in these chaotic conditions that when they’re both being obnoxiously silent, she can’t focus. How fucked up is that?

 

She barely hears the insults that Stiles and Derek exchange, their voices reduced to a faint buzzing sound in the background, like those songs you listen to when you want to sleep or work. Before she knows it, she’s written four pages -- four more than the day before -- and when she tunes back in to the conversation, they’re still going at it. Derek is no longer in the kitchen.

 

“I have better taste than you, please shut up,” Stiles is saying.

 

“Better taste than -- ? You’re wearing plaid.”

 

“What is it with you and plaid, oh my God.”

 

“What is it with _you_ and plaid?” Derek counters.

 

“You some some sort of fashion guru, now?”

 

“Just don’t tell me you have taste. Ever. Again.”

 

“I was talking about movies!”

 

“So you’re admitting you dress like a hobo on the best of days?”

 

“So you’re admitting I do have taste in movies?”

 

Derek scowls even harder. Neither of them have acknowledged Laura’s return to the Land of the Not Working on a Thesis. They usually use her coming back to life to arbitrate their shouting match.

 

“I seriously hate you,” Derek suddenly says, sounding final.

 

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but Stiles almost jumps up, as if he’d been waiting for Derek to bring up this particular point all evening, and almost yells, “But why?”

 

Surprised by the outburst, Derek stutters back, “You’re so -- you’re -- and your fucking -- I don’t -- you have to stop.”

 

Stiles is slowly shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You don’t even know.”

 

Laura saves her work, and closes her laptop. A long silence settles over the living room. She doesn’t understand; for once, the argument was actually mild and free of a fuckload of swear words.

 

“It’s your everything,” Derek explains.

 

 _Weak_ , Laura thinks.

 

“Well if you hate me so much, why do you keep--” Stiles’s eyes dart around the room, seemingly trying to find his words, “--talking to me, looking at me, acknowledging my presence?”

 

Derek gets up from the couch where he was sitting next to Stiles. _Uh oh_ , Laura thinks.

 

“Why the fuck do you keep eating my food, _Derek_?” Stiles asks, looking up at him, angrier than Laura’s ever seen him.

 

She stares at them staring at each other.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks to no one in particular.

 

“I have to...” Derek says, not bothering to come up with an excuse.

 

And he literally hides in his room, closing the door softly behind him. Laura widens her eyes at Stiles.

 

“What.”

 

Stiles swallows. He doesn’t look angry anymore, but sad. Laura gets up from her chair and sits where Derek was seconds before.

 

“Let’s watch TV,” Stiles says, fumbling with the remote.

 

Laura is completely out of her depth. _What the fuck_ , she thinks.

 

“What’s happening?” she asks instead.

 

“TV is happening,” Stiles replies firmly, eyes glued to a commercial about hygienic pads.

 

“Derek doesn’t really hate you, you don’t have to--”

 

“Nope,” Stiles says and he turns up the volume, so all the neighbors can learn about the incredible absorption this particular brand provides compared to the others.

 

“I can see you’re upset,” she says a little louder to cover the sound.

 

“I’m not upset -- Indifferent. Is what I am.”

 

Laura snatches the remote out of his hand, turns the TV off before sitting on it so Stiles can’t have it back.

 

“You’re freaking me out,” she declares solemnly.

 

Stiles sighs, lets his head roll back on the couch.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

“I’m crashing at Erica’s,” Derek announces, the front door already opened.

 

Laura narrows her eyes at him. Stiles has already gone back to his room, unable to sit still under Laura’s intense gaze and increasing number of questions.

 

“Why?” She winces. She sounds like their mom. She changes directions. “What happened with Stiles? He was really--” She gets up, scratches her head. She’s genuinely confused. Derek seems to understand the feeling, because he looks like a lost kitty. “--really not uh, normal. Like, I mean, I know you fight a lot, but he was-- upset. He was upset alright? Please don’t tell him I said that,” she finishes.

 

She’s still scratching her head a little nervously. Upset. Derek made Stiles upset and he should probably be jumping around in victory since it’s basically been his number one goal since day one. For some reason though, he doesn’t. He looks dejected. Dejected kitty. Laura wants to wrap him up in a blanket and fix him hot chocolate.

 

“I don’t understand,” she says, almost to herself.

 

“Me neither. I mean, I didn’t say anything I haven’t said before,” he says quickly.

 

Laura nods, before shaking herself. “Well you said you hated him. That was mean.”

 

“I tell him everyday! He tells me he hates me back. God, I tell you I hate _you_ sometimes. Doesn’t mean--”

 

“I know that. I know. But wha--”

 

“I don’t give a shit, he’s your best friend not mine. I’m going at Erica’s.”

 

Derek opens the door, but doesn’t step out immediately. Laura’s really confused, now. She feels like the day Isaac and his girlfriend had this huge fight at the apartment about the best way to eat yogurt: scared, utterly lost and on the verge of a nervous fit of laughter.

 

“Are you _fleeing_?” Laura asks, almost pleadingly, a hysterical note in her voice.

 

“Yeah.”

 

***

 

The ride to Erica’s place is quick. Derek knocks on her dorm room once and lets himself in. Bad idea. Boyd is here. In her bed. Naked. Nakedness is happening. Erica is shouting, Derek is yelling, Boyd is staring. He closes the door and slumps on the corridor wall, tries to shake the awkwardness out of his brain as he breathes in deep. Five minutes later, Boyd comes out with a shirt, jeans and socks. He’s leaving.

 

“You owe me big time,” he says calmly.

 

“You don’t have to go, I’m sorry--”

 

“I was leaving when you walked in, you moron,” Boyd interrupts. “The goodbyes took longer than necessary, is all.”

 

Derek lets out a shaky laugh and pats him on the back, just to do something. He can’t get out of his head that the dude standing in front of him was naked a few minutes before, doing sexy things to his best friend. He clears his throat, but the awkwardness lingers as Boyd puts his shoes back on. He’s had enough embarrassment for one night, thanks. He remembers the look of utter confusion on Stiles’s face and the silence following his outburst and he still can’t make sense of it all. He lets his head roll back on the wall he’s leaning on and sighs.

 

“Dude, you okay?”

 

“Uh?”

 

“You look like an abandoned kitten.”

 

Derek stares blankly at him. “Shut up.”

 

“Is it because you saw my junk?”

 

“Your junk is fine-- I mean, what? Ugh, can we never mention this again?” Derek pleads, closing his eyes before laughing nervously.

 

Boyd chuckles with him and gives him a friendly pat.

 

“Laura will laugh her ass off.”

 

Erica suddenly appears at the door, fresh out of a shower, in her pajamas. “Derek,” she says with a faint blush. “You could have called.”

 

“Something tells me you wouldn’t have answered?”

 

Boyd snorts. He finally bends down to kiss Erica on the lips before turning away and calling back over his shoulder, “Take care of him, the poor dude needs to get drunk, he makes me sad. See you tomorrow!”

 

Erica tugs Derek in her room before looking at him with narrowed eyes, gaze flicking up and down as if to assess some sort of physical damage.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Stiles.”

 

Erica says nothing for a while. Then, “Boyd is a prophet. You need a drink.” She crouches down to reach under her bed and pulls out a bottle of Vodka.

 

“My roommate’s out of town for a week, you can crash in her bed. Don’t throw up though.”

 

 

“You didn’t drunk--I mean... You didn’t _drink_ as much I did,” Derek observes drowsily, after slamming the bottle down on the floor. It’s not quite empty.

 

“I wanna coax you into telling me some stuff. I need to be sober for this,” Erica says with a happy laugh.

 

Over the course of the evening he has slunk down the bed, lying diagonally over the covers with his feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. Erica is lounging next to him, leaning on the headboard, her legs crossed at the ankles over his thighs. She reaches for him and starts petting his hair.

 

“You’re not sober,” Derek frowns, trying to remember how many times she took the bottle from him.

 

“No, but I won’t have a headache in the morning. I’m sober enough to ask you the hard hitting questions.”

 

She punctuates the last three words with little pokes against his skull before resuming the petting. Derek feels like purring. Maybe he is a cat. Boyd had said something about a kitten. Cats are cute, kittens are tiny. Stiles is cute. He is not tiny though.

 

“No,” Derek moans when his string of thoughts starts to make sense to his own brain.

 

“What?” Erica asks, offended. “I haven't said anything yet!”

 

“No, it’s not -- you. You’re fine. You’re my best friend. You’re _so_ awesome,” Derek assures her.

 

He’s not sure but he thinks she laughs louder than she should. He’s trying to tell her something here, dammit. He doesn’t know what he would do without her sometimes.

 

“You’re so, so drunk, dude.”

 

“I love you,” he nods, like a confirmation.

 

Erica coos and scratches his scalp with her blunt nails. “Not for long,” she says.

 

Derek is about to protest, launching himself into a beautiful declaration of friendship, his mind skimming through the stuff he likes about her; her eyes, her mean voice, her love for Harry Potter, her hatred of the word “groin”, her boobs, for some weird reason, her obsession with cocoa puffs, and the fact that she does not even get angry at him when he interrupts her sexy times... But she goes on without letting him speak and Derek is left gaping like a fish, trying to form words over her epicness.

 

“I'mma ask you about Stiles.”

 

Derek tenses, the scratching continues.

 

“D’you still love me?”

 

Derek grunts.

 

“He’s cute,” she says offhandedly.

 

Derek sees what she is trying to do. But he knows better. Ha! Doesn’t he know better. Derek will show her. He will derail the conversation with brio.

 

“It’s the moles,” Derek explains seriously, dragging out the “s”, totally bypassing his resolutions. “And the eyes. It’s his voice. You know? He looks so skinny, but --” Derek takes a deep breath. He feels so heavy. “Not skinny. Not. At all. Like, I’ve seen...! And! Yes, the arms. You know?”

 

“You’ve seen him naked?”

 

Derek snorts.

 

“Shirtless. The moron. Sometimes he’ll just parade around the apartment like a peacock.”

 

And then Derek bursts out laughing because the word peacock is hilarious. It has pea and cock in it. _Put ’em together and you have a bird_ , he sings-songs in his head. He laughs harder.

 

“Oh really?”

 

Derek can hear the smile in her voice.

 

“And he cooks pasta sometimes. It’s the only thing he doesn’t burn. I _eat_ it.”

 

“His pasta? You eat his pasta?” She’s laughing now, so Derek laughs with her.

 

“Hmmm,” he nods. “I steal it! It makes him sooo sad -- I mean _mad_. God, consonants are so dumb.”

 

“Thank God for vodka,” Erica whispers and Derek agrees. “Listen, dude. I think I know enough. How about you sleep it off and we talk about it more when you’re sober?”

 

“But I’m not finished!” he pouts. “I didn’t tell you about his mitsmashed -- misma -- i mean _mismatched_ socks. And his hands. He bites his nails you know? So, annoying. Cuz you know, he’s always touching his mouth! Ugh.”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

“And the little fucker is like, always there with his -- everything! Sometimes he speaks and it’s the _worst._ ”

 

“Oh. My God.”

 

“Cuz he thinks he’s funny. He’s not funny. He’s so, _so_ annoying. Are you listening?” Derek goes on, around a sigh.

 

“Yes!”

 

“So annoying. Sometimes I just want to tear my hair off when he’s around ‘cause words are gonna come out of his mouth and it’s-- the. Worst.”

 

“You mispronounced ‘the best’, I think,” Erica soothes.

 

Derek scrunches up his nose, trying to make sense of the words. No, the words are fine. It’s just the global meaning of the sentence escaping him.

  
“Huh?” he says intelligently.


	3. ... a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, not really satisfied with this chapter, but I promise more interactions between Stiles and Derek next time. I'm getting frustrated with them too.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Boyd says.

 

Laura groans before leaning over the table to punch him lightly on the chest. “Yeah, right!”

 

“I don’t want to talk about my feelings with you.”

 

“Why not?” she asks, outraged.

 

“It’s just weird. You think everything is a big deal and you are terrible at giving advice,” Boyd reasons.

 

Laura is positively scandalized. She angrily downs her drink and gestures at the waiter for another.

 

“I am great at giving advice. _Awesome_ , even.”

 

“You are completely oblivious to stuff happening around you,” Boyd exclaims, exasperated. “You didn’t even realize Erica and I were _actually dating_ until I told you about Derek walking in on us!”

 

The waiter brings another beer to the table and smiles at Boyd. Laura watches him walk away and huffs.

 

“I am aware of stuff! For example, the waiter hasn’t stopped flirting with you since we got here,” she says triumphantly, when she’s sure the waiter in question is far enough.

 

“Oh my fu--, Laura, he’s hitting on _you_ , you giant cretin.”

 

No he’s not. Laura looks around her frantically, like the walls are going to back her up. Maybe she’s had a bit too much to drink.

 

“He is? But --”

 

“You’re oblivious to everything,” Boyd concludes, slamming his hand down on the table to drive the point home.

 

“So you’re not going to tell me about Erica and your epic --”

 

“Nope,” Boyd shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it.”

 

“Erica is not good enough for--” she begins anyway.

 

“There we go,” he says, like he waited all night for her to say these exact words.

 

“She’s Derek’s best friend, for crying out loud. I know what I’m talking about! You deserve way better.”

 

Boyd drinks the rest of his beer, apparently steeling himself.

 

“She’s a great friend. You’re just being weirdly protective of me. I appreciate it, but -- like I said: you’re terrible at reading people and giving advice. Your judgment weighs nothing on these matters, I’m sorry.”

 

The waiter is back to take away the empty beer bottle Boyd just finished. He lifts her still full bottle and sweeps a new coaster under it before sauntering away. Laura stares at it for a minute.

 

“A great friend, right! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like her okay. It’s just -- the night you met her she was totally hitting on Stiles. I mean, come on.”

 

“Stiles wasn’t interested and she took a hint. I was there, I brought her home and we talked and she made me laugh and I got her number. I don’t know what’s wrong with this,” Boyd explains softly and very patiently. That’s a sure sign he thinks she’s drunk. “And she _is_ a good friend alright? Derek needed her last week and she spent the whole night cajoling him, being a bro and stuff, cause he’s _pining_.”

 

Laura finally notices what is wrong with the coaster. There’s something written on it. She takes it from under her beer and reads a series of digits.

 

“It’s a phone number,” Boyd tells her, his voice dripping with smugness.

 

“The waiter --” she begins, a little lost.

 

She lifts her head and sees him wink at her from across the bar. She flushes and lets her head fall on the table.

 

“He was flirting with me, not with you,” she whines. Boyd hums. “I am oblivious,” she goes on, absolutely defeated.

 

Then she lifts her head from the table so fast the room spins a little.

 

“Wait. Did you say Derek was pining?” she squeals.

 

***

 

“I wasn’t pining,” Derek says for what feels like the twentieth time in less than ten minutes.

 

“Hey! You were drunk. You don’t remember shit. Trust me on this. You. Were. Pining,” Erica whispers as not to attract the attention of the lecturer.

 

Actually, Derek does remember. He remembers very clearly. He has vowed never to get drunk again because of this very act of remembrance. He left Erica’s dorm room in the morning before she woke up (“never ever, ever, ever,” he pep-talked himself in the car) and avoided her calls until today: where he couldn’t avoid her as he shared most of his classes with her.

 

“You said --”

 

“I don’t wanna know!” he hisses, panicked.

 

It’s one thing to remember, but another to hear it coming from somebody else’s mouth. It makes everything a little too real. If he can convince Erica never to speak of this again, it will be like nothing ever happened. Like a bad dream. Yes. Good.

 

“You said I was awesome and that you loved me,” she finishes anyway, smirking at his relieved face.

 

“I really don’t know why, cause you’re horrible and I hate you,” he says.

 

“We’re going out tonight,” she says, looking straight ahead to the front of the lecture theater.

 

“I’m not getting drunk again,” he warns.

 

“Why not? Scared of what you might say? Again?” she asks loftily, fighting a smile.

 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

  
  
  


He’s drunk again. Well, not really. A bit tipsy maybe. He’s had a few beers, he can feel himself standing right on the edge of inebriation. He makes his way through Jackson’s huge house and manages to find the kitchen without too much trouble. He pours himself a glass of water, downs it, then drinks another one.

 

Erica is dancing with Boyd. The music is loud and upbeat, but they’re moving with each other slowly and sensually, oblivious to the rhythm of the song.

 

“Hey man,” Isaac claps him on the back with a big smile on his face. “Long time no see. Living with your significant other is great but Lily is no _LauraandDerek_. How’s the new roommate? You miss me yet?”

 

“Ugh, you don’t even know. Please come back,” Derek begs exaggeratedly.

 

Isaac laughs and Derek notices he’s not alone. A pretty girl is standing next to him, smiling shyly.

 

“Oh, sorry. This is Stella. She’s a friend of Lily’s, she’s just visiting. She doesn’t know anyone here,” Isaac introduces them.

 

Stella offers him a little wave and her smiles gets bigger. Her eyes are dark brown and she seems quiet. Her skin is dark, a little lighter than Boyd’s.

 

“Hi,” Derek says, smiling back. “So where’s Lily, though?”

 

“Uh, somewhere. Reminds me I gotta find her.”

 

Isaac claps him on the back again and slips past them, whispering in his ear, “Be nice,” before disappearing into the crowd and leaving him with Stella.

 

Stella is definitely shy but Derek manages to make her talk. He’s not really listening to what she is saying because her eyes are very pretty and he’s only human. So he talks a lot to make up for it. It’s not really like him, but whatever, she seems to enjoy it because she laughs sometimes. Her hair is very long and she smells like oranges.

 

They talk for a while, away from the noise and the crowd, sitting near the pool, outside. She gets a little cold and Derek wraps his arms around her. He kisses her and she kisses back. Then, she gets up, takes his hand and leads him upstairs. They meet Jackson on the way up, and he wordlessly points at an empty room, raising both his eyebrows at Derek.

 

They kiss again and fall on the bed.

  
  
  


“So who is it?” Laura asks again. “Boyd said --”

 

“Boyd is a jerk. I am not pining for anyone,” he sighs, his heartbeat going crazy.

 

Stiles chooses this very moment, of course, to come into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast.

 

“Hey Laura. Jerkface,” he greets them with a nod.

 

“Derek has a secret girlfriend,” Laura gleefully announces.

 

Derek rolls his eyes. At least she’s missing the mark by a mile.

 

“How interesting,” Stiles says flatly, searching the cupboards for his cereal.

 

“You came home last night smelling like fruit,” Laura crows, triumphant.

 

Well, she’s not wrong. He spent a few hours of the night with Stella and her perfume was everywhere on his clothes and skin. The morning after could have been way worse, but still had been a little awkward, with her trying to explain how she was from the other side of the country, only here for a week or two, and probably couldn’t see him again. And Derek had breathed a sigh of relief and had said it was totally fine and she had left, smiling shyly again.

 

“It’s not my girlfriend, Jesus, give it a rest -- and please don’t _smell_ me? I was at Jackson’s yesterday, I danced a bit, maybe some girl --” he begins to explain.

 

“Ugh, please, spare us the details,” Stiles cuts him off, crunching on his Cheerios unhappily.

 

Laura is pouting.

 

“It was just a hook-up then? But Boyd was pretty adamant --”

 

“Who talked about a hook-up? I just said --”

 

“Please, you’ve got your _‘I just had sex’_ look,” Stiles butts in disdainfully.

 

“Yeah, he’s right,” Laura nods.

 

Derek is feeling assaulted from all sides. Goddammit, can’t he have one quiet morning? He glances down at himself and he doesn’t know what’s different about him for them to know he, in fact, _had sex_ the night before.

 

“I don’t... have a look.”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “I bet you don’t even remember her name, poor girl.”

 

“Who said it was a girl?” he sneers, unable to help himself. Derek is starting to get angry. The fact that his own sister and a dude he’s known for a almost a year now, still think of him as a mindless jerk is irritating. He’s not even dating that much. He doesn’t understand where this reputation is coming from.

 

Laura laughs happily. The crunching of cereal stops and Stiles stares at Derek for a long time but no joke comes out of his stupid mouth. He just stares, and Derek frowns and swallows hard.

 

“Oh, he’s got his thinking face on,” Laura teases.

 

“Would you stop saying stuff about my face already?” he snaps.

 

“And I mean, Jackson’s party, dude? I think it settles this argument forever: you have _no_ taste,” Stiles smirks, seemingly snapping out of his daze.

 

“Maybe I fucked Lydia? You’ll never know, you weren’t invited,” he bites back, reaching his breaking point.

 

“Oh, wow,” Laura says, setting down her coffee cup on the table, probably sensing trouble.

 

“Lydia doesn’t wear any perfume,” Stiles says defensively, but he’s looking at Derek with wide and betrayed eyes. “She would never cheat on Jackson anyway, why would you...”

 

“That’s really creepy that you know what she smells like,” Laura says.

 

“I was obsessed with her for a while alright? And you just said you smelled Derek last night, so shut up! Whatever, I’m over it.” And with that he leaves his cereal bowl on the counter and goes back to his room.

 

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s suddenly not hungry anymore.“I didn’t sleep with Lydia,” he says immediately to Laura when they’re alone.

 

It was a very stupid thing to say and he feels like he needs to apologize to someone. Preferably not Stiles. Laura will do. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I know you didn’t, calm down. We were just teasing, jeez,” she takes a bite of her bacon. “So, do I know her?”

 

“Oh my God, no. Her name was Stella, she’s a friend of Isaac’s girlfriend. She was really nice and pretty and clever. She’ll be out of town in a week. Happy?”

 

Laura hums, “Oh, so it _wasn’t_ a dude.”

 

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

“If you got her number, tell her to go easy with the perfume. You seriously reek,” Laura says.

 

***

 

Laura has to admit, Boyd and Erica seem to actually be serious with each other. They’re currently curled up together on the couch, watching a Pixar movie. Sometimes Boyd lifts his hand and treads his fingers through her hair.

 

“They’re disgustingly sweet,” she says to Derek, from their spot in the kitchen.

 

Derek hums, uninterested.

 

“Boyd says I’m oblivious. That I don’t see the things that are right under my nose,” she goes on, poking Derek with her fork. She’s bored and looking at the cutesy couple on her couch is depressing.

 

“He’s right,” Derek snorts without lifting his eyes from his book.

 

Laura is about to protest when the tip of his ears turns inexplicably red. He’s embarrassed. What the hell about? If anything Laura should be the one to be ashamed of her complete lack of awareness. Like right now for example. She’s definitely missing something. Damn.

 

“I wish mom was here,” she settles on saying. “Sometimes she just gets stuff.”

 

“Oh my God, I’m so happy mom’s not here,” Derek whispers, almost to himself.

 

Laura is definitely missing something.

  
  
  


“Stiles, you gotta help me,” she tells him that same night, barging in his room unannounced.

 

Stiles is dicking around online, sprawled out on his bed. “I could have been masturbating, you should knock,” he says, bored.

 

“I need you to be aware.”

 

That gets Stiles’s attention. He looks away from the screen and stares at her. “Are you high?”

 

“What? No,” she waves him off, sitting on his bed. “Derek is hiding something. I’m useless at picking up on stuff. You have to help me figure out the mystery.”

 

“Your brother is not mysterious, he’s dull.”

 

“He _blushed_ ,” Laura hisses, gripping his arm. Stiles is clever, sharp and other stuff. He has to help. “Boyd is always hinting at stuff but he never wants to tell me anything clearly! Erica is judging me ‘cause apparently she figured it out. Derek blushed. He blushed for no reason whatsoever. Derek broods, yells, scowls and snarks. He doesn’t blush.”

 

She’s about to repeat the blushing bit one more time before Stiles closes his laptop.

 

“Whatever, I’ll pay more attention to what Erica and Boyd say around him, I guess.”

 

“Yes! Thank you, cupcake!”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“Thank you, monkey?”

 

“Ugh.”

 

***

 

“I honestly don’t understand why he won’t make a move,” a hushed voice says. “I wish I had seen him the other night at Jackson’s place. I would have told him what I think of him and his stupid face.”

 

“He’s Derek,” Erica’s voice replies matter-of-factly.

 

“But--”

 

A waitress comes to take Erica’s and mysterious voice’s order, interrupting them. Derek slides further down in his booth, trying to conceal himself from the two girls talking about him. He wants to hide his face behind a Menu, but he feels it will only attract more attention to him. He doesn’t know how they do it in the movies.

 

The two girls are across the aisle separating the two rows of tables, a little further up on his right. Erica has her back to him, he can only see a bit of blond hair from the top of her head. In front of her is the mysterious other girl. Derek can’t recognize her voice, and he can only see her arm from where he’s slumped down.

 

“Well, I think it’s dumb,” the voice says again, after the waitress has left. “Stiles is insufferable lately. He’s always calling, texting me that we need to go out and ‘do things’. His words, not mine. He can’t sit still for more than two minutes anymore. He’s driving me nuts.”

 

The girl moves a bit to the left and Derek can finally see it’s freaking _Lydia_. Derek had no idea she was friends with Erica. He feels weirdly betrayed and humiliated. They’re actually having a conversation about him. And Stiles. _Him and Stiles_. He’s too old for that shit, damn it.

 

“I think he needs to get laid,” Erica says mildly.

 

“Well duh. I’m way ahead of you, baby. He slept with three girls last month. Three! He’s usually super mellow and in a good mood after sex, but now it’s even worse.”

 

“Maybe he needs to sleep with a dude,” Erica shrugs innocently.

 

Derek can’t slump any further from the booth unless he wants to sit on the floor, but right now the idea of hiding under the table to escape his own embarrassment is appealing. Stiles having stress-relieving sex is definitely the strangest thing he’s heard all day, and he’s had class with _Finstock_ , so that’s saying something.

 

“Oh, he did that too. Last week. No luck. He said the guy was _‘way too nice’_ , and he left in the morning. And then, he came to my place, all jittery and flailing and I _can’t take it_ anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about it with Laura.”

 

“What the hell do you want me to do?” Erica says, annoyed.

 

“Talk to your best friend. Tell him to stop being a coward, tell him to pin Stiles against a wall, to fuck him so hard he’ll forget my number for a week and won’t bother me.”

 

Derek chokes on his own spit. The waitress throws him a suspicious look. Derek blushes harder.

 

This is the worst situation he’s ever been in. Ever. When he came in the diner to have some coffee he had no intention of staying more than ten minutes. He didn’t notice the two girls chatting, and soon enough his cup was empty. Soon enough he got up, heard Erica’s voice, smiled and turned in her direction to say hi. Soon enough, Erica said, “So do you think Derek’s hot?”, and the other girl said, “Not really.” And Derek sat back down, stunned and sickly curious. The conversation quickly stirred away from Derek non-hotness (“I don’t know, he’s just not my type,” Lydia explained) to focus on Stiles’s sexual frustration and Derek’s absolute stupidity. It’s been an hour now, and he keeps ordering coffee. He feels wired and his heart pumps too fast, whether because of the drink or the conversation he’s eavesdropping on.

 

“You don’t know Derek very well,” Erica snorts, “If I’m too direct he’ll clam up. Truth is, he hates Stiles. He hates him so much he _likes_ him. He’s confused.”

 

Derek feels weird hearing it out loud. He _is_ confused. Because of a dude. _A Stiles_. Because of a Stiles. That’s embarrassing.

 

“He’s pathetic,” Lydia corrects. She suddenly reminds him of his sister. “From what you tell me, Derek can’t stop talking about him and I know for a fact Stiles won’t shut the fuck up about Derek.” She sounds done with the entire universe. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

 

“Just let them do their thing, I don’t want to intervene, and you’ll have to promise me you won’t either.”

 

Derek feels the tension draining out of his body. He breathes better, all of a sudden. He promises himself to bake Erica some cookies real soon.

 

“Why?” Lydia exclaims, exasperated.

 

“None of our business. Also, it’s kind of entertaining.”

 

Nope, no cookies for Erica. Derek crosses his arms like a petulant child.

 

“Oh hey, it’s my favorite song,” Lydia suddenly says excitedly when a some music comes on through the diner.

 

“I went to a concert where they were the opening band,” Erica preens.

 

Lydia scowls. “Ugh, when? Where? How did I miss them? I hate you, you’re paying for the meals.”

 

Erica laughs and Derek takes it as his cue to leave stealthily, feeling weird -- well, weir _der_ \-- about listening to their conversation now that he’s not the main subject of it.

  
He walks home on automatic pilot, staring at his feet, unable to get the idea of Stiles having all kinds of sex out of his mind. He can’t even begin to imagine the sounds he would make -- _makes_. That he certainly makes -- during sex. He can understand the idea, the _concept_ of it -- but can’t actually imagine it. All that comes out of Stiles’s mouth is sass, more sass, weird offended grumbles, backhanded compliments and sarcasm; it’s difficult to think of Stiles as a someone who could ever be sexy. Maybe what rolls off his tongue when he’s being fucked is sarcastic too. Or maybe he does the fucking. Derek’s throat dries up. Whatever. Who cares? Not Derek.


	4. ...passionately

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I promise I'm done teasing after this one. Like seriously done. The next chapter is already written, so it'll be up fairly quickly! so don't hate me for ending it there pls pls pls pls it was getting too long.
> 
> oh yeah, and uh, I should probably warn about the amount of alcohol in that chapter?? Idk, it doesn't concern Stiles or Derek, there are no consent issues, but uh people do get pretty drunk. i don't wanna upset anyone. So be warned, i guess.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” Stiles says, picking up the phone. “Nah, I’m cooking.” A pause. “Very funny, mom. _Hila_ rious. Can’t you hear me laughing?”

 

Laura snorts in her glass of wine. Stiles's ironical voice is like music to her ears. She loves Stiles’s mother. She’s nice and natural, she doesn’t take any of Stiles’s shit, and she is, as Laura once discovers while staying at the Stilinski house for a weekend, a hilarious sleep-walker. Laura still falls over herself laughing when she remembers the fateful night when Mama Stilinski got out of bed, picked up the first thing she found on the floor, made her way to Laura as she was reading on the couch and asked if she “wanted some cheese?”, delicately offering her a dirty sock from her hands.

 

“Be nice!” she shouts from the couch. “Tell her I said hi.”

 

“Laura says hi. Yeah, she’s fine. It’s her birthday, for God’s sake, of course I’m -- what?”

 

He listens so intently to his mom that he stops stirring the sauce in the pan. Then he scowls, fixes a point in space and stares at it moodily.

 

“I’m hanging up now, _mother_. Go bother dad or something, I’ll talk to you when you stop making fun of me.” He adds, “Yeah, I’ll see you in a week. I love you!” and hangs up.

 

“What did she say?” Laura wants to know immediately.

 

“She says she knows you and I will get married someday,” Stiles grumbles. “It wasn’t funny the first time she thought you and I were dating. It’s still not funny.”

 

Laura laughs, delighted. “I’d be a great girlfriend. I’ve been told I’m awesome at sex.”

 

Someone clears their throat and Laura's whole body whips around to see Derek standing in the doorway, shrugging off his coat. Stiles is startled and splashes some sauce on his shirt. He stares at the stains blankly, like he can’t believe it happened.

“Filed under: Things I didn’t need to know,” Derek grumbles, frowning. “Happy birthday?”

 

“You’re back!” Laura squeals, delighted he could make it, standing from the couch and bouncing over to greet him.

 

“Of course I’m back, did you think I was going to skip your birthday?”

 

Laura jumps in his arms and squeezes him so hard he grunts in annoyance. Just to be extra obnoxious, she peppers his face with quick kisses until Derek can’t help but laugh, pushing at her and faking disgust. She finally lets him go and sighs, “Just like old times. Remember when we were younger? You were so cute, I used to kiss your little face all the time.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and steps warily around her, probably scared she’ll attack-smooch him again. He grumbles a bit, glancing at Stiles quickly, before silently begging Laura with his eyes to shut the hell up and stop embarrassing him in front of his sworn enemy. Laura is really good at interpreting the silent brotherly begging. She’s had practice. But it’s her birthday. She’s allowed.

 

“Stiles, did you know he used to sleep in my bed almost every night when he was six?”

 

Derek sinks in the couch, hiding his face in a cushion. Stiles slowly turns toward her, a mean smirk stretching his features. He’d look super handsome if his shirt wasn’t disgustingly splashed with cooking sauce, she thinks idly, and if the air surrounding him wasn't smelling like burnt food.

 

“Oh?” he says simply, slowly wiping his hands with a kitchen rag. “Please, tell me more.”

 

Derek makes a pathetic sound from the couch, not even fighting it. Laura giggles. He knows when he’s being defeated. He’s just going to try and become one with the furniture, plotting his revenge, until they’re done teasing him.

 

“We watched a horror movie one night, cause our parents had forbidden it and _I was a rebel, alright_. Derek here,” she explains, walking over to Derek and patting the back of his head, “followed me everywhere and did everything I did. So he watched it with me, obviously.”

 

Stiles leans against the counter, his arms crossed and his eyes twinkling with amusement.

 

“He had awful, _awful_ nightmares about... What was it about Derek? Derek?”

 

He sits up with all the dignity he can muster, his face flushed. “A killer rabbit.” He sighs, accepting his fate.

 

“Yeah, a deadly fluffball,” Laura corrects. “He threw away all the plushies he had that more or less looked like bunnies.”

 

Stiles nods sagely, “Of course. They could have come alive during the night and launched an attack.” Derek throws him a nasty look, but doesn’t contradict him.

 

“When mom finally noticed he didn’t sleep in his bed that much anymore and _why_...”

 

“She totally kicked your butt and yelled at you for being so dumb,” Derek cuts her off moodily. “I was six, damn it.”

 

Laura snickers all the same and mockingly mouths “bunnies” at Stiles until they both lose it and laugh outright.

 

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. I didn’t get you a present, so the joke’s on you.”

 

Laura waves him off. “Pshh, I don’t want anything, you know it. You just allowed me to embarrass you, so I’ll take that as a gift. Stiles, you didn’t buy me anything, did you?”

 

“I promise I did not,” he replies solemnly, returning to his weird smelling cooking. “My gift is my food.”

 

Laura exchanges a worried glance with Derek. Her brother mimes calling for pizza and Laura nods enthusiastically behind Stiles’s back.

 

“Good, good. You did bring the alcohol, though, right?” she asks Derek aloud, pretending the silent conversation didn’t happen.

 

He shakes his head, judging her. “Yeah I did. You’ll be drunk alright.”

 

“Good,” she says again. “Good.”

  
  


She’s so, so, so happy. All her friends are here. And the friends of her friends are here too. So many friends. Yes. Perfect. She takes another shot of vodka. Jackson is watching Stiles make flaily gestures at Lydia with a flat look, sometimes interrupting him with some snark. Stiles snarks back on the spot, and Lydia is getting impatient.

 

“Jacky. Jacks. Dude--”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Jackson groans, his face twisting in disgust, like he can't decide which one is worse.

 

“I’m living with Derek fucking Hale. Your bitchiness is nothing compared to what I have to endure everyday. I’m bulletproof,” Stiles goes on, talking over him. “You need to step up your game if you want to keep up with me. Do you have enough stamina to --”

 

“Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence,” Jackson warns, clutching Lydia’s hand defensively.

 

“Wha--? I wasn’t even gonna go there! Your mind is in the gutter.”

 

Laura’s attention snaps away from Stiles's squawking and she spots Erica in a corner. A guy that could be considered kind of cute is trying to flirt with her.

 

“Erica! Come here,” she yells over the music across the room, motioning for her to come closer.

 

Erica pats the guy fondly and patronizingly on the cheek before making her way to Laura through the tiny crowd. “Yeah?”

 

“You’re so pretty, where’s Boyd?”

 

Erica laughs, raises her beer at her in thanks and says, “He’s by the window with Derek and Isaac.” She tilts her head toward them.

 

“Boyd, baby,” Laura calls out. “Look! I’m making amends!”

 

He turns around and raises his eyebrows in question, staying where he is. Derek is laughing at Isaac, who is completely smashed. Even Laura can see it from there, and she is pretty drunk.

 

“Can I give you a kiss?” she asks Erica, swaying lightly into her space. “Boyd thinks I don’t like you. But I do!”

 

“You want to kiss me,” Erica echoes flatly.

 

“Yes! Did I stutter or what?”

 

“No need to get sassy.”

 

“No, no,” Laura puts both of her hands on her shoulders, anchoring herself. “No! It’s a valid question. I’m like, really drunk. Maybe I stuttered. I stutter a lot because -- _vodka_.”

 

“Okay, it’ll be your birthday present, then.”

 

Laura smiles. She can’t feel her jaw anymore. “Perfect! It’s like you know me! I hate conventional presents. Like, buying stuff is so dumb. Yeah? My family thinks I’m weird and Stiles calls me a hipster.”

 

“Okay, whatever you say.” Erica shrugs, she looks impatient.

 

Laura plants a big wet kiss on her cheek. Well, she valiantly tries at least, her aim is a bit sloppy because of the alcohol and she lands way closer to her lips than she had intended. Erica freezes before returning the kiss, closed-mouthed, with a slight pressure. “There,” Erica smiles sweetly after pulling away. “Happy birthday.”

 

“Laura,” Boyd moans begrudgingly from the other side of the room.

 

“Her lips are so soft,” she tells him, because it’s the only thing she can think about right now. “A bit like yours!”

 

“You kissed Boyd?” Erica sounds surprised, not really angry, even amused. Maybe they can be buddies after all.

 

Laura giggles. “It was a dare. Didn’t use tongue, I swear!”

 

“Your loss,” Erica says with a low voice, watching Boyd approach the two of them. “If you’ll excuse me,” she adds in a ridiculous affected accent before snatching her boyfriend away to lead him to a quieter corner of the room. Laura sighs happily.

 

Scott comes over to help her when she stumbles a bit to walk over to the couch.

 

“Ugh, Scotty my little baby. I try so hard to hate your face, but it's scientifically impossible," she tells him when she lets herself fall on the couch.

 

"Uh, thanks, I guess?"

 

"You're like a precious little -- _thing_! I'm jealous."

 

"Well, I _am_ a precious little thing, indeed. That must be why Stiles loves me better," Scott says with a straight-face.

 

Laura is about to have a breakdown when he sends her his best smile and squeezes her shoulder gently. "I'm just kidding, Stiles loves all his children equally," he says, rolling his eyes. "You don't have anything to be jealous about. I promise."

 

Laura traps him in a bear hug and Allison is forced to come and rescue him.

  
  


Half of the guests have already left, including Isaac, Lily -- his girlfriend -- and their friends, and the ones remaining are in various states of disarray. Lydia and Jackson have locked themselves in Laura’s bedroom, as promised by her the day before. Laura is pretty sure there’re two girls she doesn’t know locked in the bathroom doing _things_. Danny and a dude named Ethan (or is it Aiden?) are -- out of all the things they could be doing -- baking a fucking cake. At five in the morning. The other twin, Aiden (or is it Ethan?), is passed out drunk on the small loveseat, right next to Erica and Boyd, snuggled lovingly on the big couch, whispering and chuckling to themselves.

 

Allison pecks Scott sweetly on the mouth near the window, where he’s talking with Derek and Stiles.

 

“I’m really tired,” she says softly against his mouth.

 

Laura gets down from where she had hoped on the counter, watching the cuties bake the Night Cake (“It’s a 'we’re-really-hungry-and-high-right-now' Cake,” Ethan -- she thinks it's Ethan -- slurs, “Happy birthday!”). She makes her way to the little group, just as Stiles is offering Allison his bed for the night.

 

“Scott is no way near sober, you guys are staying here tonight. I promise my room’s totally clean.”

 

Derek snorts. “Clean,” he echoes mockingly. “Right.”

 

Stiles scowls. “Well, clean-ish. Shut up.”

 

“Who the hell cares,” Laura agrees. “At least you’ll have a bed.”

 

Allison beams and before making a beeline for the bedroom. “Thank you so much, I’m exhausted.”

 

Scott watches Allison disappear in Stiles’s room and puts his weary head on Derek’s shoulder. Laura is glad to see he caught up with her on the alcohol front. She's already coming down from her buzz, but he's _wasted_. “But where are you going to sleep?” he asks Stiles and Laura with a tremor of sadness in his voice.

 

“I’m staying up,” Laura says. “I have to go to class in a few hours.”

 

Stiles gapes at her. “You can’t possibly be serious. You look like a zombie from hell.”

 

Laura falls into his arms and buries her face in his neck. “Fuck off,” she whispers fondly.

 

***

 

Derek can see Laura laugh at something Stiles said from his spot at the window. She’s sitting at the counter, drinking coffee after coffee, while some dude feeds her the cake he just baked with Danny. Stiles licks his lips and steals a bite from Laura, swallowing it quickly and sucking on his fingers to eat all the crumbs he didn’t get. Derek momentarily forgets what Scott is blabbering about.

 

“... best friend,” Scott is saying.

 

“Huh? What?”

 

“Stiles is like a brother to me. He’s my bestest friend ever,” he repeats, with more feeling.

 

“That’s great Scott, really great. I’m glad he’s yours. You should have him at your place more often, then. I wouldn’t have to see his stupid face so much.”

 

“I like his face,” Scott frowns, adorably offended. “It’s very... Stiles-y. Stiles-ish. Stylish?”

 

Derek is a little scared of where the conversation is going. Scott is drunker than he’s ever seen him and listing all the good things about Stiles might lead to a marriage proposal and sloppy drunk kisses between the two best friends. It’s happened before and no alcohol was even involved.

 

“And Allison is pretty much always around now, and that’s not cool for Stiles, you know? So he’d rather have _me_ come here, at his place, by myself, instead of him being the third wheel...” Scott adds with low and sad voice. “But I love him so much...”

 

His sentence trails off into nothing and Derek thinks he fell alseep on him.

 

“Scott? You should go to bed,” Derek says, surprised Scott didn’t follow his girlfriend the minute she left.

 

Scott nods vehemently against his shoulder and yawns. “Yeah, I’m tired but, wow, you’re so muscled.” He rubs his face against his arm. “Stiles! Don’t you think he’s like, really buff?” he calls across the room.

 

Stiles’s eyes scan them; Scott practically hugging Derek’s body with his head tucked under his chin and Derek standing stiffly around him. Stiles snorts. “Yeah buddy, Derek likes to pretend he doesn’t take care of his _physique_.”

 

“Stiles doesn’t have to pretend at all,” Derek spits back immediately.

 

“Stiles is naturally handsome and sexy,” he counters, walking slowly toward them.

 

“Derek begs to differ.” Derek smirks meanly.

 

“Derek is a douche who talks about himself in the third person.”

 

Scott snorts and hugs Derek tighter. “Then you’re an asshole too,” he says loyally, defending Derek.

 

“Never said otherwise.” Stiles plants himself in front of them, looking Derek in the eyes.

 

“Scott speaks the truth tonight -- tell me, what do you think of Stiles’s _fashion sense_?” Derek asks, feigning interest. In his state, Scott probably can’t hear the sarcasm, and he doesn’t know about their on-going _Plaid versus Leather_ battle. That’s what Laura calls it.

 

Scott shrugs very slowly. “He dresses like a highschooler,” he settles on saying, in a neutral tone of voice.

 

Stiles chokes on air. “I do not!” Derek sends him his best smile, just to be even more infuriating.

 

“What do you think of Derek’s wardrobe, then?” he demands, a little put out, gesturing wildly at Derek’s everything.

 

Scott thinks about it for a while, going as far as twisting his body away from Derek for a second or two to gaze at his face and look at his clothes. “Hmm. He dresses like a serial killer biker.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles crows. Why is it always the first thing that people say? Serial killers do not wear leather as a rule, for God’s sake.

 

“No. Like a mechanic, sometimes,” Scott corrects himself.

 

“ _Ah_ , yes,” Stiles nods emphatically, as if he’s tasting wine and he recognizes the aroma. “The white tank tops.”

 

“I wear white tank tops too, sometimes,” Scott reminds him childishly.

 

“Yeah, and I told you already. You look like a gay porn star when you do.”

 

Scott grins, disentangles himself from Derek’s body and barrels into Stiles, laughing. “You should know, right?” he says teasingly. Stiles opens his mouth and closes it several times, but no sound comes out. Derek is simultaneously embarrassed and pleased, but doesn’t know what he’s embarrassed or pleased about. All he knows is that _gay porn + Stiles =acceptable equation_ and that’s it.

 

“Okay, I’m going to sleep now, I’m feeling woozy, where’s your room -- I’m lost.”

 

Stiles pushes Scott in the direction of his bedroom and they both watch him stumble to the door, struggle to find the handle, and finally open it before locking it back behind him. “Don’t have sex in my bed, please,” he reminds him, but he’s smiling, staring at the closed door with an extremely fond expression on his face. Derek thinks it’s the first time he’s ever seen him so soft, almost subdued. Danny, the other dude and Laura are apparently sitting on the kitchen floor, hidden behind the counter, playing cards.

 

Derek is alone with Stiles for the first time in a long time and misses the way Scott was curled protectively around his body, like a shield. He doesn’t know what to do to pick up the conversation, considering Scott totally ended it on the subject of freaking porn.

 

Instead, Stiles thrusts his beer in his face and asks disinterestedly, “Wanna finish it?”

 

“Sure.” He takes it -- Stiles’s fingers impossibly warm against the coolness of the bottle -- and downs it in one go. Stiles watches something intently below his face, around his collar bone. Derek looks down at himself quickly -- maybe he spilled some beer. But Stiles’s eyes suddenly snap away, looking out of the window behind Derek, clearing his throat.

 

“So, I think it’s the stubble,” he finally says, out of the blue.

 

“Huh?”

 

“The serial killer vibe? It’s your face.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“Just telling it like it is.”

 

“I don’t need advice from a teenag -- no, a _highschooler_ , he said?”

 

Stiles winks in fake-flirt kind of way. “What a good pair we make. A serial killer, a jailbait. It’s the stuff from movies.”

 

Derek pointedly looks away; licks his lips because the alcohol and something else make his mouth dry. “You’re right, it fits. I _do_ want to murder you ninety-eight percent of the time.”

 

“What are the other two percent for?”

 

Weird and confusing sex dreams, sexually charged staring contests and stolen plates of food.

 

“Luring you into a false sense of security,” Derek says as quickly as he can instead, stumbling over his words, torn between what his brain wants to say and what it needs to say.

 

Maybe it’s wish fulfillment on Derek’s part, but Stiles appears to be closer to him than he was a few seconds ago. “Is it working?” Derek asks without thinking, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Stiles isn’t listening anymore, his eyes drop to Derek’s lips. On the other side of the room, Danny exclaims, “You cheated!” and it rings loudly in the quietness of the room. Laura denies. Ethan backs Danny up. Cards are being thrown left and right. Plates are used as shields. Stiles’s eyes close for a second and when he opens them again they’re back into focus.

 

“I need to sleep,” he declares firmly, swaying away from Derek and running a hand fiercely through his hair, making it look even wilder.

 

Derek takes a huge breath he didn’t know he was holding and says, “Yeah, me too.”

 

They look at everyone sleeping on the couches, taking up all the space, and then at the two closed bedrooms taken up by the couples. Derek sighs, lets his head thump against the window pane behind him. _I’m so gonna regret this_ , he thinks numbly.

  
“You can sleep in my room,” he announces quickly, hoping Stiles didn’t hear him somehow. He walks briskly to his door and goes in without looking back to see if Stiles agreed or followed.


	5. ...not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws porn in your face and runs away, blushing like crazy*

He leaves the door open. He turns on the small lamp on his bedside table and strips down to his boxers as fast as he can. He’s about to bury himself in his bed when Stiles speaks from the threshold.

 

“Well I don’t know if I should sleep here -- you just admitted to your murderous desires -- tendencies! I meant _tendencies_.” He clears his throat.

 

Derek’s brain stalls and plays an endless loop of the word. _Desire, desire, desire, desire, he said desire, fucking hell dammit to hell Stiles_.

 

“You’ll have to take the risk,” Derek shrugs, turning off the light and sliding through the sheets. He closes his eyes tightly.

 

For a while he doesn’t hear anything but the faint chatter of his sister and her friends in the kitchen. But then, it is cut off by the soft click of the door closing, followed by the tell-tale ruffling sounds of clothes being removed. “Fair enough, scoot,” Stiles demands.

 

“It’s my bed,” Derek grumbles, shuffling away from the middle of the bed to leave Stiles some space anyway.

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Stiles replies automatically, wiggling around to get comfortable.

 

That’s the last thing Derek hears before falling asleep, surrounded by the unusual warmth of their two bodies and the soothing sound of Stiles’s breathing slowing down.

 

***

 

“Don’t eat that, Stiles cooked it!”

 

“Ugh, what’s even in there?” Ethan -- definitely Ethan -- says.

 

“There’s some tomato -- of that, I am sure. The rest is a mystery. Derek and I ordered some pizza. Here, have some.”

 

Ethan takes a slice from an open cardboard box and sits back down with them on the floor.

 

“Are you seriously eating pizza after cake?” Danny says with his quiet and soothing voice.

 

“I live a dangerous life,” he shrugs.

 

Laura hears Stiles and Derek talk about going to bed. She watches them go in Derek’s room and she stares at the door long after it’s been closed.

 

“Stiles’s the funny one, isn't he? Has a thing for the redhead, right?” Ethan asks, mouth full of pizza.

 

“Not anymore. Maybe for Jackson?” Laura jokes, thinking of their childish bickering.

 

“Don’t be gross,” Danny says with a dramatic shudder. “Lydia told me he was having all kinds of fun lately, though.”

 

“What? He didn’t tell me that,” Laura says, pouting. Stiles tells her stuff. A lot of stuff. They’re bros. He tells her things. Sex things, even. Why didn’t she know about that? Why did Lydia tell Danny and not her about that? 

 

“Uh oh, trouble in paradise?” Danny teases, sitting way too close to Ethan.

 

“Well I don’t wanna jump to conclusions here -- but he just went to sleep with your brother. You know, the hot dude?” Ethan says.

 

“I know who my brother is,” she snaps, irrationally annoyed. She turns back to the closed door and squints at it, like she can see through it. “They have to sleep somewhere, right? It totally makes sense.”

 

“They _hate_ each other,” Danny states flatly, like it means something. Of course they do. So fucking what. Laura’s heart beat goes up a notch for no reason at all. The buzz from the alcohol has gone down, but she’s exhausted and she can’t quite grasp the thought that is currently fluttering around her head. She angrily snatches the pizza slice away from Ethan’s hand and chews on it nervously.

 

“I’ll talk to Stiles when I can,” she says, almost to herself, in a daze. “Let’s play cards or I’ll pass out. And let's make it interesting, for God's sake. Ethan, cough up the cash.”

 

***

 

Derek doesn’t know what wakes him up. Either Stiles’s breathing, or the unbearable furnace under the duvet, or maybe the police car racing somewhere in the city, sirens blaring. His eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. He sits up and looks at the time. It’s only been an hour since they went to bed. He takes a long swig of water out of the plastic bottle he keeps by his bed and almost pours the rest of it all over himself when Stiles speaks.

 

“Gimme some,” he says fuzzily, his face smashed into a pillow, lazily lifting his arm toward the bottle.

 

“You’ll give me cooties,” Derek says, recovering from his fright, because it’s not seven yet and he’s had less than two hours of sleep -- so sue him, he’s not at the top of his game.

 

Stiles snorts and sits up way faster than Derek thought he was capable of. He lunges across the bed and tries to snatch the bottle away from him. Derek thumps back on the mattress at the last second, curled protectively around the fucking water bottle, spraying both of them with the liquid.

 

“You’re such a baby,” Stiles hisses, prying the water away from him and drinking the rest of it.

 

Derek is panting a little, he's so tired. The morning light is filtering through the shades and he can make out Stiles’s face. Stiles’s everything. He tips his head back to swallow the water and his long neck is just right there, in Derek’s bed, in Derek’s face. Then, Stiles licks messily and purposefully at the bottleneck and throws it at Derek’s forehead; it’s empty, so it bounces back on it and falls on the floor.

 

“There. Real cooties,” Stiles explains to a bewildered Derek, apparently very satisfied with himself.

 

Derek blinks once. Twice. He doesn’t know what to say and it’s driving him insane to let Stiles have the last word, it’s irritating beyond reason, so Derek doesn’t think much when pounces on him. He pins his arms to the mattress and groans in what he hopes is a threatening way, as Stiles yelps in surprise. Their skin is a little bit slippery because of the spilled water, so Stiles wriggles free easily, pushes back against Derek’s body with surprising strength, sending both of them tumbling to the floor, dragging the sheets with them.

 

Derek lets out a little ‘ _oof_ ’ of pain when he hits the floor, Stiles on top of him. Derek thinks it’s the first time they ever touched, skin on skin, without it being an accident.

 

“I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you_ ,” he keeps saying between pants and groans, trying to regain some dominance.

 

“You started it!” Stiles hisses angrily, his smug smile long gone. They’re not playing anymore.

 

“ _You_ started it!” Derek flips them again, putting all his weight on him.

 

“When?” Stiles asks breathlessly. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” His voice breaks a little because he’s tired and Derek is stealing all his breath. It comes out as a broken wheeze and a harsh whisper, and it’s probably this, more than anything else, that shakes Derek to his very core. They both stop moving at the same time. The only things Derek can hear is their heavy panting and his own erratic pulse, and the only thing he can feel is where their skin touch, Stiles’s chest rising to meet his when he gulps in some air.

 

Derek doesn’t answer. He feels like he’s witnessing everything from outside, somehow. He watches himself inexorably close the distance between Stiles’s mouth and his, he watches it happen helplessly, he can’t stop it. It’s like Stiles and him are magnets, and all this time they’ve been repelling and pushing at each other like two kids trying to make two of the same poles touch, even when everyone _knows_ it’s scientifically impossible -- but oh so fun -- and now something just snapped, something switched and flipped the right way; and Derek can physically feel the pull, and he definitely can’t resist it.

 

The moment their lips brush, he rushes back into his own body, sensations assaulting his nerve endings from all sides. Stiles doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t pull away. Derek is both relieved and frustrated, because now that he had a little taste he wants more.

 

He presses his lips a little more against his mouth, and Stiles shifts his head a little bit, just a little bit to the right, and a little bit down and they slot together perfectly, their lips closing on each other’s softly and dryly. Derek’s elbows start to tremble as they’re still bent a little to pin Stiles’s wrists to the floor and he falls forward and little bit, shifting so his weight rests on his forearms instead.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles finally croaks out. They’re so close that Derek can feel his breath on his face.

 

“What are _you_ doing?”

 

“God, I hate it when you repeat what I say and just emphasize one word out of it. And I asked first.”

 

“God, I hate it when _you_ say stupid stuff as if you’re still in preschool. ‘ _You started it!_ ’, ‘ _I asked first_ ’, ‘ _Here, let me throw a bottle at your face!_ ’” Derek is trying really hard not to grind down on Stiles’s willing body under him, and with the effort, he almost misses the flash of pure lust painting Stiles’s features for a second.

 

Stiles’s pushes at him with his now free hands and Derek yelps a bit as he is immobilized against the side of the bed, his back digging against the mattress, ass on the heap of sheets they dragged down in their fall. Stiles grips his upper arms tightly and straddles him. Derek freezes immediately and Stiles leans in real close.

 

“I’m sick of you,” he rasps, voice heavy with intent.

 

Derek ponders what to say next, choosing the thing that might exasperate Stiles the most. “I’m sick of _you_.”

 

This time, the kiss is all Stiles, and it becomes maddening ridiculously quickly. He grips his hair tightly and it hurts a bit, but he smothers the sound Derek makes with a brush of his tongue. They both gasp loudly. Derek curls his mouth around Stiles’s as he lets his fingers roam along his neck and around his face, thumbs sweeping back and forth on his jaw, and yes, _yes_ , Derek was so right -- Stiles’s skin is silky smooth.

 

Derek can’t believe how into it Stiles is being. His hands are never not moving, fluttering around Derek’s face, sweeping down his arms, up his chest, scratching his nape. He tastes like chocolate cake. Derek’s insides are turning to jelly.

 

Stiles starts rocking down and the added friction makes Derek lose his mind. Stiles won’t stop kissing him but he can’t do that anymore if he wants to breathe at some point. Derek’s hands travel down to Stiles’s ass without his permission, but at least it makes Stiles wrench his mouth away from him with a low groan. Derek helps him with the rocking movement, trying to get closer, impossibly closer to Stiles, curling an arm tightly across his spine to press his hand on his shoulder, the other on the small of his back, his fingers slipping under the elastic band of Stiles’s underwear.

 

At this point, Derek can hear himself and Stiles gasp and groan louder and louder. They’re sweaty and sticky already, so Derek slows down to a more leisurely pace, trying to get his breath back and avoid having the whole fucking apartment hear them. He hasn’t forgotten about his sister in the kitchen. Stiles follows him, his breaths evening out, until the rocking movements are reduced to small undulating circles.

 

When he speaks again, it is barely a whisper, and Derek can only hear it because they literally breathe in each other’s mouth. “Do you have any, uh -- thing? Anything?”

 

“If you can’t say the words ‘lube’ or ‘condom’, I’m not having sex with you,” Derek whispers back. A big, fat lie.

 

“Do you have any personal lubricant?” Stiles tries again with a what is certainly supposed to be a sophisticated accent. “Protection? So we can have safe sexual intercourse?”

 

Derek purses his lips, trying not to smile. “That’s not funny at all, you sound ridiculous.”

 

“Wasn’t it elegant and grown-up enough for you, your majesty?”

 

Derek ignores him and pushes on his chest to dislodge him from his lap. He gets up to get to the drawer of the bedside table. He’s got his hand on everything he needs when he sees Stiles strip away his underwear. Stiles is totally naked in Derek’s room; that’s a statement Derek never thought would be true one day.

 

Stiles curls his hand around Derek’s hip and ducks to suck on Derek’s nipple. He curses under his breath and Stiles detaches himself from his chest with a wet and quiet pop. He takes the condom from his hands with a smirk. Derek scowls because he’s sure, so sure Stiles is about to say something dumb. But he doesn’t. His face gets serious and he leans in delicately to nip at Derek’s jaw, before slowly kissing his way down his neck, and up again to to the spot right behind his ear. He stays there and Derek sighs pathetically, turning his head the other way so Stiles can have more room.

 

It takes a little manhandling but Stiles manages to arrange Derek on the bed in such way that he’s leaning above him between his knees. Derek is on his back and drinks in everything he sees -- can’t help but touch what Stiles is offering. His defined chest and the jumping abdominal muscles as he leans back, his taut neck and open mouth as he twists sideways a tiny bit to grab the lube.

 

Derek gets to touch everything. They jerk each other off slowly and lazily, trading kisses and gasps, neither of them is in a rush. Derek brushes his fingers against his mouth; Stiles’s eyes snap back to his and he sucks on them without any hesitation, coating the index and middle one slowly and deliberately with spit.

 

Derek watches them disappear in Stiles’s mouth and his breathing accelerates again. His cock is already throbbing with need and little sparks of pleasure travel along his spine when it brushes against Stiles’s. It’s three hundred degrees in the room but he’s shaking, little tremors of he doesn’t know what travelling along his limbs, making his movements jerky and clumsy.

 

Stiles shuffles a bit backwards and puts one hand on the inside of Derek’s thigh, craning his neck to see. Tingles and goosebumps travel on Derek's skin. Stiles grips his wrist with the hand not on his thigh, and guides the spit-shiny fingers down between the two of them, bypassing their dicks until they rest against Derek’s ass, near the crease. Derek freezes, a wave of anticipation overcoming him.

 

“Ever done this before?”

 

“I’m not a virgin, Stiles.”

 

“With a guy?”

 

“I’m not a virgin, _Stiles_.”

 

“Alright, let me try this another way -- have you ever been fucked by a dude?” Stiles whispers. As an afterthought, he adds, “With his dick. In your ass. I mean.”

 

Well, then.

 

“No.”

 

“What about the other way around?”

 

Derek closes his eyes. “Neither.”

 

“Strickly a handjob, blowjob kind of guy, then.”

 

“I never really wanted to anything more with a dude before. The sex was good either way.”

 

Stiles shuffles fully back into Derek’s lap again, straddling him, still gripping his wrist and moving it away from Derek’s hole. Derek hisses at the newfound contact, minutely moving his hips to brush his cock against his stomach. Stiles chuckles breathlessly. He coats Derek’s fingers with lube and without further ado, brings them to his ass, pausing just before Derek can breach him.

 

“So, do you want to try now?”

 

“Yes,” Derek replies instantly.

 

Stiles kisses him, licking the seams of his lips filthily. “Good. It’s your first time so --”

 

“Not a virgin,” Derek says again, with more strength.

 

“You know what I mean. I want it to be good for you, so you’ll top. Yes?”

 

Derek swallows thickly and feels his face grow a little hot. Stiles is being weirdly sweet, he doesn’t know what to do with that. That’s not the way they usually communicate. Still, he asks “Will it be good for you?”

 

Stiles’s face goes really soft, and Derek is glad, so glad this expression is for him and him only. He doesn’t answer but finally presses Derek’s fingers inside, shifting his weight on his knees a little for a better angle. He falls forward and thumps his forehead on Derek’s shoulder.

 

“God, finally,” he sighs.

 

Derek doesn’t really know what to do at first, so he just goes with the flow. Stiles is still guiding his hand, pressing in deeper and deeper, and Derek gets the hang of it quickly, adding another finger when Stiles lets go of his wrist, gripping his neck tightly instead. He crooks his fingers experimentally and Stiles is rocking back on them, breaths coming in short bursts.

 

“Yes,” he murmurs wetly against Derek’s neck. Many more yeses follow the first one, and Derek absorbs them all for himself as both of their cocks cover their stomachs with pre-come. Yes, yes, yes -- _yes_.

 

“Come on,” Stiles says after long minutes, detaching himself from the hollow of his neck. He fumbles with the condom shakily, rolling it down on Derek’s cock.

 

Derek wants to say something, anything, but Stiles slicks him up, then he is kissing him again, a little bit more messily this time, as he rearranges himself above him, gripping his cock firmly before lowering his hips down. The heat surrounds Derek and he chokes on air, clutching at Stiles’s nape with one hand. Stiles smirks and leaves his lips alone, righting himself and sitting fully on Derek’s cock. He doesn’t move right away, and Derek uses that delay in the proceedings to just look at him, all sweaty and open-mouthed.

 

At first Derek enjoys the ride. Quite literally. He doesn’t guide Stiles with his hands on his hips, they’re hovering a few millimeters over them; he just watches hungrily as Stiles bounces up and down on his cock, panting. But he lets himself touch Stiles’s thighs, thumbs the hollow of where his legs meets his hips, coating his fingers with more lube to jerk him off at the same time.

 

Derek is huffing and puffing too and he’s not doing any work, barely moving his hips at all, afraid he’ll come too soon if he abandons himself. Stiles breaths become gradually louder until they can’t be mistaken as anything but quiet moans. It’s doing things to Derek, alright? _Things_.

 

“Oh my God,” Derek sighs, closing his eyes tightly just to have something to do. Anything not to flip Stiles on his back and fuck him through the mattress. There's a tell-tale warmth that is starting to coil around the pit of his stomach.

 

Stiles’s pace slows down; he falls over Derek, huffing and puffing, bracketing his face with his forearms and Derek takes over. He grabs Stiles’s ass and spreads his cheeks, starts thrusting up slowly but deep. Stiles makes a very rewarding choked off sound and hides his face in Derek’s neck. He picks up the pace and the obscene sound of skin on skin fills the room. Derek is too far gone to care, and can’t find the will to tell Stiles to be quiet for fear of breaking his rhythm.

 

Stiles must know he’s making more noise than he should anyway, if his half-whimpers and cut-off cries muffled in Derek’s throat are any indication. He snakes a hand between them and starts jerking off as Derek fucks him.

 

Derek’s whole body is screaming with exertion, begging for a release, any kind of release. When Stiles bites down hard at his shoulder, his whole body tenses, and Derek feels something hot and wet painting his stomach in wet stripes. He can feel Stiles’s pliant skin under his hands turn to something taut and wrung out, like something is pulling at his limbs from all directions. His grip on Stiles’s slippery skin tightens in response and Stiles finally, finally goes slack, mumbling and whispering nonsense in his neck, soft words and dirty words and praise and please’s and that does it. Derek comes hard, his nails sinking unforgivingly in Stiles’s tender skin. His whole body is singing with relief, the endorphins kick in and Stiles is still talking. The rush of blood in Derek’s ears drown most of the words out, but he understands enough that he seeks Stiles’s mouth with his own and drinks them in directly from the source.

 

Deek pulls out and Stiles slides to the side. They’re both out of breath. Derek sits up to grab the box of tissues, and wow. _Headrush_. Vision a bit blurry, he cleans them up sloppily, ties his condom, wraps it in a tissue and throws the whole thing in the direction of the trashcan.

 

Derek wanted to know how Stiles was during sex. Well now he knows.

 

Stiles hasn’t moved an inch from where he’s slumped on the bed. Derek carefully lies back down next to him, making sure not to touch him somehow, to give him space and room to breathe.

 

Stiles says, “Well, that was unexpected.” Derek wants to ask, _was it? Was it, really?_ but can’t bring himself to it. “Do you think they heard us?”

 

“Knowing my sister, she’d have barged in here with a shoe or something, thinking we were actively trying to murder each other. So no. I think we’re safe.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, and Derek knows he doesn’t know what else to add. Silence stretches for long minutes until their breathing is completely under control.

 

“I should go check if I can have my bedroom back,” Stiles tries.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s still morning. Scott won’t be up until at least noon. You can stay here,” Derek mumbles. It comes out way more casual than he expected from himself. He’s suddenly scared Stiles will take this the wrong way and think -- something. He doesn’t want Stiles to think. About things. Right now.

 

So he adds more decidedly, “Stay.” And Stiles does. He relaxes minutely, shifting closer to Derek, their arms barely touching.

 

“Don’t think I’m fooled. I know you only keep me around so I can protect you from the scary killer bunny rabbit,” Stiles whispers seriously.

  
“Fuck you,” Derek grumbles, secretly pleased Stiles is still being an asshole.

 

Stiles shuffles closer still, bumps his nose against Derek's shoulder and kisses it furtively. It's fucking adorable so Derek makes more complaining noises before lifting his arm and curling it around him. Stiles ducks under it and rests his head under Derek's chin immediately.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for any mistakes/typos you can find. I try my best.


	6. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: You might wanna wait a few more days before reading this, cause it's unbeta'ed and for some reason I always find new typos and odd phrases AFTER POSTING WHICH IS INFURIATING. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit longer than the others cause it's JUST THE WAY IT IS. Uh, I don't know what else to say. I tried my best to wrap things up. 
> 
> I kinda had a blast writing this, and thank YOU for all the lovely comments and kudos, oh my GOD.

They don’t really talk about it much. Their relationship is basically the same, except now Stiles makes a lot more crude jokes, and also sometimes (twice exactly -- Derek counts) he blows Derek in the bathroom.

 

He doesn’t exactly want it to be a secret, but the sheer idea of sitting Laura down and telling her what’s happening is making him physically ill. Also, he doesn’t even know if they’re dating. It’s not like he can ask. They’re mainly communicating via sarcasm, and while that’s great because it leads to at least two surprise handjobs on monday and three angry make out slash ‘rub against each other until they come’ sessions the next day, it’s not exactly ideal for serious conversations.

 

Derek has never been this frustrated in his life. As Stiles’s loyal best friend, Laura is always, _always_ around. She’s always in Stiles’s room, and when she’s not in his room, he’s in hers, and when they’re both alone in their respective rooms, Derek can’t even consider going, in turn, in Stiles’s room cause it’s right fucking next to Laura’s and what if she hears and what if she comes in without knocking like she does all the fucking time?

 

She’s always in the living room, finishing a paper. Always on Derek’s bed, using his computer. Always out with Stiles, getting him drunk. Always out with Derek, getting herself drunk. Always out with them both, stealing fries from their plates.

 

Derek can’t even be mad at her because she just doesn’t know. She doesn’t do anything different from what they’re used to. It’s not her fault. It’s theirs.

 

So when one day, Laura says she’s spending the whole week end with Lydia, Allison and Erica, Derek almost weeps in relief. (“Behave!” she warns just before going out the door. Stiles snorts.) He and Derek stare at the door for five minutes after she leaves, scared she’ll come back because she always forgets something. Keys, phone, you name it.

 

After having her around for so long, Derek is kind of nervous about being alone with Stiles again, like a fucking teenager. Blowjobs, handjobs and banter were safe territory at least. They’re still staring at the door and he catches himself wishing she’d come back.

 

After the five minutes of doom, and when it becomes clear they are well and truly alone, all bets are off and Stiles pins him against the wall, kisses him like the ground is about to swallow them whole. Derek sighs into the kisses, winded by the shock, and he sags against the wall as his legs buckle under the assault. He takes back all his prayers for Laura to come back home early. He can’t believe he missed this that much. Stiles drags him roughly to his bed and they get rid of their clothes in a tangle of limbs and swear words.

 

“Oh my God, I thought I was gonna go insane. I was ready to take you on the floor and let her watch, I swear to fuck,” Stiles grunts in between licks and kisses.

 

Derek’s stomach drops low in his belly, and warmth is spreading through his body in spite of the nakedness. Well, because of the nakedness would be just as correct.

 

“That’s horrifying,” Derek says, but it comes out all breathy and weak because Stiles is already mouthing his way down his chest.

 

“Your dick thinks it’s hot,” Stiles says casually, glancing at it as it keeps getting thicker and thicker.

 

 _Dicks are dumb_ , Derek thinks mulishly. He relaxes into the bed when Stiles’s lips start to work on the the soft skin of the inside of his thighs. He bites at it gently and swipes his tongue right after, making Derek squirm and hold his breath. He does that for a while, and Derek sighs, forces himself to breathe in and out slowly because he’s already started to shake under the licks, kisses and caresses.

 

He’s not really in the mood for slow and lazy sex, so he finally yanks Stiles back up forcefully and kisses him hard, biting at his lower lip as soon as he catches it, keeping Stiles from lurching away. He hears him gasp and feels him reel back into his space again to ease the stretch of his lip. Derek sucks it back between his lips as a reward or an apology; at least Stiles is still up there, kissing him, not teasing.

 

When Derek lets him go, Stiles tucks his face in Derek’s neck, panting, mindlessly grinding his hips against him, finalizing the easy task of making them both fully hard. “Ow,” he mutters reproachfully. Derek hears him suck and lick at his lower lip, trying to soothe the sting. When he looks at Derek again, it’s all red and swollen. Derek surges up again to catch his mouth, but makes the kiss gentler. Softer, with more lips and less teeth. His tongue curls against Stiles’s; it’s soft and sloppy and incredibly warm.

 

Stiles's hips are still moving relentlessly against him, making their cocks brush and slide against each other every so often. Derek wants more; he doesn’t know how to say it so he lets his hands travel down Stiles’s back -- it arches in pleasure -- until they reach his ass. He grabs it and pulls it even closer to his body, making Stiles grunt.

 

“Jesus, are you in a hurry or what?”

 

“ _Yes!_ ” Derek says, annoyed. “It just so happens that I am. Let’s have sex now.”

 

“We _are!_ ”

 

“You haven’t even reached for the condoms yet, I hardly call that sex. Now are you gonna fuck me or what?”

 

Derek isn’t used to be so bossy in bed, but Stiles brings it out of him. He doesn’t really enjoy talking, hopes body language does its job, hopes it ends up being good, hopes -- for the best really. Hit or miss. But this is Stiles. And Stiles is a little shit. So Derek doesn’t really care about how it looks and how it sounds that he’s making demands. Stiles can deal. He’s not a precious little flower.

 

All the blood Derek’s brain usually uses for cognitive activities is currently being redirected to his dick, so he can’t really think straight here. All he can think about is sex, sex, sex, more sex, Stiles, sex, and more Stiles because Stiles equals sex.

 

Stiles blinks down at him, and a playful smirk colors his features. “Oh?” he says, sneaking a hand past Derek’s head to grab something -- lube! hell yeah! -- under his pillow. Derek schools his features into a carefully blank mask, when really, his insides are doing somersaults. “Well, if you’re in a hurry, that’s too bad. I can’t just go in there and fuck you, dude.”

 

“I prepped myself already,” Derek mumbles, squirming under him, a little put-out that no part of his body is touching Stiles’s anymore.

 

Derek hears more than sees Stiles swallow. He even closes his eyes before straightening up, kneeling between Derek’s thighs, as if to verify the fact. “You did?”

 

Derek hates all that talking. Where’s all the sex? _Sex sex sex sex_. He nods, a little embarrassed, now. He feels the sudden need to justify himself. “You were out with my sister and -- I was really bored okay? And horny, so I just --” He shrugs. “I didn’t even know if we were going to do that again, but I wanted to try and I thought --”

 

Stiles flaps a hand in front of his face -- so close Derek goes a little cross-eyed -- to shut him up. “Did you like it?” he asks, a little hungrily. Derek wills his ears to remain a normal color. No blushing. He’s an adult. He can talk about specific sexual acts without blushing like a teenager. He can, dammit.

 

He settles for the truth. “Well, it was really weird. I didn’t really enjoy myself or anything, but at least it didn’t hurt that much.” And here comes the blush. He scowls and looks angry to make up for it, worried Stiles will make some sort of comment. “Anyway, I was very thorough in trying to figure out if I liked it, so I think I’m pretty ready, okay?” he adds a little forcefully, because they’re still not having any sex.

 

Fortunately, Stiles must miss all the touching too, cause he runs his hands down Derek’s chest and around his sides, even giving a few tugs to his cock to keep it hard. Derek’s eyes drift closed.

 

“Okay, I’ll just --” Stiles begins, already pouring some lube on his fingers, tracing the rim of Derek’s hole with his thumb.

 

He can’t help the full body shiver. Yeah, that is different. It’s like that time when this girl --Kitty! that was her name! How weird that he can remember that now-- gave him his first handjob. Doing it to yourself is enjoyable. You know what you like and it’s your hand, so you can’t really go wrong. But the feeling of her hand on his dick had definitely been more interesting; Derek didn’t know the pace she was gonna set, didn’t know the pressure she was gonna apply, didn’t know where it was going. He had come pretty quickly and decided handjobs were the best thing ever. (That was before blowjobs.)

 

“You _are_ pretty loose,” Stiles comments casually, breaching him slowly.

 

The feeling is foreign and completely different from what he’d felt with his own hand. His breathing accelerates and Stiles adds more lube. He slides two fingers in easily, gasping a little when he encounters no resistance. Derek makes a little noise of contentment and can’t muster up the strength to care.

 

“Fucking fuck --”

 

Derek’s eyes snap open just in time to see Stiles grip his dick at the base to prevent himself from coming, presumably. “Don’t look so smug,” he snaps angrily, and Derek realizes he’s smirking. He hides his face in Stiles’s pillow to keep from laughing.

 

Stiles retaliates by crooking his fingers here and there, twisting and turning. Derek knows what he’s looking for; Stiles is still muttering grouchily, promising him weird and sexy things and calling him names, but for now, Derek revels in the smooth pleasure of his fingers inside him, creating delicious friction and delectable pressure -- when suddenly, his body jerks unwillingly and his fists curl around the bed sheets.

 

“Ah-ha!” Stiles crows. He does it again, more carefully this time, now that he knows what he’s doing, and Derek can’t help it; he moans loudly and shamelessly, tingles and warmth coursing through his nerves and his skin, making his toes curl and his back arch.

 

Stiles stops teasing him, and Derek drops back on the bed, already panting like he’s been running for hours, his body relaxing after tensing up so hard. Stiles bends down to kiss him, and Derek is a little too blissed out to respond accordingly, so it’s sloppy and lazy, but when Stiles sits up again, the Victory Condom of Sex is in his hand. Derek’s brain -- Derek’s _dick_ immediately chants back the familiar litany of _sex sex sexsexsex_. He watches dopily as Stiles rolls it on and lubes himself up.

 

Then, Stiles grabs his right knee and pushes it to the left, until Derek is forced to twist his body on his side so his knee touches the mattress. Stiles straddles the thigh still on the bed, pushing at Derek’s knee until it’s almost to his chest, opening him up. That way, he’s not flat on his back, but he’s not on his hands and knees either.

 

“I wanna see your face,” Stiles rasps out as an explanation. “I like this position better. You tell me if it’s not good for you.” It’s all the warning he gets before Stiles lines himself up and presses in.

 

He immediately bends his body over Derek’s like a shield, holding himself up with one hand, and guiding his cock into Derek with the other. Derek twists his upper body as much as he can to hook a hand around Stiles’s neck and kiss him raw. Stiles goes in slowly --slower than Derek would like, so he moans again, exhales and inhales sharply in Stiles’s mouth to urge him on.

 

When Stiles is fully inside, they both release a long breath. Stiles adjusts his grip on the back of Derek’s knee. It opens him up a little more, stretches him, and it makes everything a little hotter for Derek. He clenches his teeth, feeling his cock leak pre-come on the bed.

 

Way better than his own fingers.

 

Stiles makes a few tentative thrusts, shallow and slow. The friction is awesome, so Derek twists his chest back toward the mattress to hide his face in a pillow, smothering a whine.

  
Stiles’s hands don’t stop caressing him, his ribs and his back, lingering on his tattoo, his ass and his thigh, and with each little touch, Derek feels himself melt further into the bed, and with each little touch, Stiles’s thrusts get deeper and faster.

 

Before Derek knows it, he’s whimpering and pleading for more, as little half-explosions erupt through his body when Stiles brushes against his prostate. He turns back to Stiles and holds him as close as possible, needing to hold on to something, snapping him out of his daze as he watched his cock disappear in Derek’s ass. Stiles’s mouth is now directly pouring harsh little breaths and grunts and groans directly into Derek’s ear. “You like this?” he asks roughly. And Derek doesn’t know if it’s dirty talk or just genuine concern, but either way he nods vehemently, stutters out a “yes” between thrusts and gets stuck on the word, when Stiles’s hips work faster, an endless string of the same affirmation pouring out of his mouth. “Yes, yes -- _yes_ , yes yes.”

 

He feels wrung out, too hot, and pleasure is exploding everywhere in his body, every brush of Stiles’s skin on his skin making him squirm because he’s too sensitive and he loves it. His hands are still clutching Stiles’s sides, trembling because of his thrusts and sliding because of their combined sweat. Derek is forced to hold on tighter, digging his nails in the skin a little so they’ll hold, and Stiles’s breathy noises become louder and more articulate. “Oh my God, oh God, oh God --”

 

Derek can’t take it anymore. He pushes at Stiles with his knee until he slides out of him and he’s flat on his back again. Stiles takes it in stride, still towering over him, and pushes back in immediately, holding the back of Derek’s knees while Derek has more room to open up his legs and wrap a hand around his cock. The angle is different -- it’s not as good, but Derek hardly notices because there is a shaky tremor running through his body and he knows what that means. Something is pooling at the bottom of his stomach. He can feel his whole body tensing up in preparation, almost like it’s bracing for an impact, and he moves his hand faster as he desperately wants to come. Stiles is panting and pounding into him, now holding his hips still.

 

Derek opens his mouth to warn Stiles he’s going to come, but he just gasps in a huge lungful of air instead. He shoots on his chest messily, trembling and tensing all over. A shaky moan rolls out of his throat. At the same time, Stiles collapses on him and whimpers pathetically, fucking him through it. Derek’s vision greys out around the edges, but he still moves with Stiles, silently urging him on until he can’t be that patient anymore.

 

“Come on,” he whispers wetly in Stiles’s ear, kneading at his ass. “Stiles, come on --”

 

He can feel the precise moment Stiles tips over the edge. His movements become jerky and he chokes on his own spit. Then stillness.

 

Derek can finally relax along with him. They both stay there, one on top of the other for a while until their breathing evens out. Derek finally pushes at Stiles, making him slide off of him easily.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles says sleepily, staying plastered to Derek’s side, an arm thrown across his chest.

 

Derek only grunts in response, because words are for the strong and the not recently fucked. They fall asleep before either of them gathers the energy to clean them up.

 

***

 

Laura comes back from her Spa Retreat --courtesy of her Majesty Lydia Martin-- on sunday, late in the afternoon. It had been an uneventful weekend, except on the rare occasions where Lydia and Erica would whisper mysteriously about mysterious things. But they both had refused to tell Laura and Allison what it was all about. Whatever.

 

Laura is all relaxed and happy, humming to herself as she throws her small travel bag on the couch. She makes a beeline for the fridge and her mood drops a little.

 

“Derek! You didn’t go grocery shopping! It was your turn!” She whips around, gasping, when she feels someone breathing down her neck. “Holy mother of nuggets! Derek, what the fuck! You scared me.”

 

He’s shirtless, obviously fresh out of a shower, judging by his wet floppy black hair. He looks positively ridiculous, like a drenched cat.

 

Derek blushes a little and clears his throat. “Sorry -- for the food. I forgot, I was busy.”

 

“Doing what?” She knows for a fact his classes are over, and his last exam was over a week ago.

 

Derek blushes even more, looks at everything but her face. He throws a very unsubtle look to his bedroom and Laura gags. “You brought somebody home to sex them up? That’s disgusting. Are they still here?”

 

“What? No!” Derek looks scandalized, when really, he has no right to. Laura is not the one with the “I just had sex” face on.

 

“Right,” she mutters, unconvinced. “Anyway, I don’t want to know.”

 

Derek opens his mouth to respond but he’s interrupted by Stiles stumbling awkwardly out of the bathroom, wearing all his clothes --that’s not always the case-- and sporting a bright smile.

 

“You’re back!” he exclaims, opening his arms good-naturedly. She immediately forgets about Derek and his gross sex life and slots herself between his outstretched arms, hugging the life out of him. He smells like soap and shampoo and he’s still a little damp. It’s a good hug.

 

“Derek, you order some food, since you forgot to fill the Fridge of Life,” Stiles says primly, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of the phone.

 

Derek simply arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his bare chest. “How about you say please?” he says, his voice syrupy and obnoxiously sweet.

 

She’s missed this. Derek and Stiles yelling at each other sounds like home. She watches a little stupidly, waiting for Stiles’s inevitable comeback, but it never comes. He just smirks, like he knows better than to engage into a fight with Derek and he tugs Laura down on couch, finally choosing to ignore Derek’s quip.

 

“So, tell me about that girly weekend,” Stiles asks, not really focused on her.

 

Derek puts on a t-shirt, and Stiles’s eyes absent-mindedly follow the movement. “Well,” she says, happy to see his attention snap back to her when she starts speaking, “we drank massive amounts of wine and we slept a lot. It was awesome. Massages everywhere! And cucumber masks! Like in the movies. Awful food --like, how many variations of a salad can you have? But other than that, it was so worth it. It was so good, we didn’t even talk about you guys.”

 

Stiles tenses up and she worries she said something wrong for a second. Was it the dig against salads? She knows Stiles can be really protective about food.

 

“Didn’t talk about us? Why would you do that in the first place?” Derek asks, frozen in place with the phone in hand, voice higher than it should.

 

Laura is confused. “Well, we didn’t talk about guys, period. About you guys! You --being guys. You know, dudes. Men. Of the male variety?”

 

Stiles laughs, tension bleeding out of him easily. “Good for you.”

  
  
  


She’s packing her bags for their trip back to Beacon Hills for the summer when Danny texts her.

 

**_So, did you talk to Stiles?_ **

 

Laura texts back that he’ll have to be more specific. What the hell is he going on about?

 

**_You said you would! It’s been weeks, I wanna know if it’s him or Derek who slept on the floor. There’s no way they shared a bed, remember? ;)_ **

 

Oh yeah. She had forgotten about that. The day after the party had been pretty much normal, with Stiles and Derek arguing about who would clean up what and who would finish Danny and Ethan’s cake. She had talked to Stiles about his apparently active sex-life of late, but he had blushed and basically shut down, claiming his right to privacy, which completely baffled Laura because Stiles was the kind of guy to text her about the different shapes and sizes of penii to rank them.

 

She texts back, deflecting, **_Who cares? Are you and Ethan finally dating or what? I heard Jackson complaining about ‘loud motherfuckers being extremely loud’ the other day..._**

 

Danny doesn’t reply and Laura laughs to herself.

 

“Derek! Stiles! We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Be on time, or no snacks on the road!”

 

Laura hears Stiles curse, followed by a series of crashes. She can almost picture him flopping around in his room, trying to pack everything in time so he can get ride shotgun and get candy bars.

 

When he’d moved in with her and Derek, they hadn’t known they were from the same small Californian town. It had only served to cement Laura’s and Stiles’s friendship even more; they threw around words like ‘ _destiny_ ’ and ‘ _fate_ ’ and ‘ _platonic soulmates_ ’. Derek had just looked even more aggravated and appalled. Good times.

 

Exactly fourteen minutes later, she’s at the front door, her two suitcases ready. Derek comes out of his room two seconds later, with a single sports bag. Stiles follows fairly quickly, dragging with both hands an obnoxiously huge suitcase on the floor, panting and cursing when it gets stuck between the frame of his bedroom door.

 

“A little help, here?” he wheezes out, still pulling like maniac on the handle of the bag.

 

Derek has his blank look on. The one he uses when he likes to pretend Stiles is just a fragment of his imagination. Laura watches Stiles struggle for a few moments, because it’s highly entertaining. She’s about to move to help him when Derek stomps over to him first, rolling his eyes and sighing like a twelve year-old forced to take out the trash.

 

He kicks a little at the bag and it dislodges itself from between the door. Stiles, still pulling at it, goes flying backwards with the momentum and falls in a pile of limbs behind the couch. Derek picks up the heavy bag, but doesn’t spare a glance for Stiles, sprawled out on the floor.

 

Laura can’t help but laugh a little. She’s already out the door with her own luggage, marching resolutely to the elevator when Stiles and Derek inevitably start arguing.

 

“You wanted some help,” Derek is saying in a flat voice.

 

“I almost died!” Stiles replies, out of breath.

 

“How tragic.”

 

“You’ll regret this.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

Stiles splutters even more. “Give me my bag, I don’t need you to carry it for me,” he grinds out, vexed.

 

The three of them stand awkwardly in the elevator, trying to make all the bags and suitcases fit inside with them. Derek eyes Stiles with a look approaching disgust. “Would you stop panting like a -- just stop.”

 

To Laura’s surprise, Stiles laughs breathlessly and smiles at the closing doors. “Reminds you of something, Hale?” he asks snidely.

 

Ugh, apparently Stiles getting to fuck around with random hook-ups makes him super crude because the innuendos and double-entendres are becoming a thing for him now, and Laura’s weirded out.

 

“Yeah, Scott’s asthma,” Derek replies evenly, sniffing haughtily.

 

“Oh, gross,” Stiles says, which doesn’t make any sense at all, because in what world would Scott’s condition be more disgusting than the idea of either Stiles or Derek having sweaty rough sex?

 

Laura looks at them both with a raised eyebrow, and Derek ducks his head down, hiding his face. Stiles clears his throat and the elevator dings.

 

***

 

Derek is driving the first portion of the ride back to Beacon Hills. He subtly tries to communicate to Stiles that he probably should sit in the back with Laura, but the fucker is stubborn and insists on riding shotgun. “I’ll get sick in the back,” he states.

 

“I’ll get sick of your face,” Derek shoots back.

 

Still, Stiles ignores him and sits in the front. Derek doesn’t argue much more, because he’s paranoid and he can feel Laura’s eyes on them the whole time. He panics every now and then, telling himself that she knows and she’s just playing with them. Then he calms down. Laura is oblivious. Everyone knows that. Right? Right?

 

They’ve been driving for an hour and a half when Stiles startles next to him: his phone chirps, signalling a message. Laura is sprawled out in the back, head pillowed on Stiles’s hoodie and eyes closed.

 

Stiles frowns at his phone, thumbs flying over the keys to type out a quick response.

 

“It’s Lydia,” he says.

 

The same wave of panic overcomes Derek again. He hasn’t forgotten the conversation she and Erica had in that diner, a few weeks ago. He hasn’t forgotten the very awkward conversation -- on his end, at least -- he had with Erica a few days after he spent the night with Stiles. She had used every weapon in her arsenal to make Derek squirm and blush and splutter and she had fucking enjoyed it. (“I knew you two would fuck! I’m sure Stiles is wild in bed, did he leave marks on you? Show me!”)

 

“What does she want?” Derek asks warily.

 

Another text comes in.“She wants me to call her,” he says, dialing her number. Derek has a bad feeling about this. He looks at Laura in his rearview mirror. She’s still sleeping.

 

***

 

Laura lets herself be lulled into this very comfortable place where she’s not really awake, but not fully asleep either. She can hear but doesn’t listen to the faint chatter of Stiles and her brother’s conversation. But when she hears Lydia’s name, she perks up a bit, keeping her eyes closed.

 

“She wants me to call her,” Stiles says front the passenger seat. After a small pause he speaks again. “Hey Lydia, everything alright? Yeah, we’re on the road.” A beat. “Uh. I-- I-- don’t know what to tell you,” he stammers, clearly embarrassed. Laura doesn’t open her eyes.

 

Derek interrupts, “Oh my God, Erica told her didn’t she?”

 

“ _You told Erica?_ ” Stiles hisses, probably for Laura’s benefit, when really she’s never been this awake in her life. Shit’s getting interesting. Stiles sounds angry. Apparently he shares some sort of secret with Derek -- a secret he rattled out to Erica, who in turn, told everything to Lydia. This whole thing is confusing.

 

“I had to! She’s my _best_ friend, Stiles,” Derek counters, not yelling either. “She knew already, anyway. Well, she knew I wanted to --”

 

Stiles squawks. “Wha--! You get to tell your best friend, and I can’t tell mine!” There’s a very small pause and a quiet ruffling of clothes which means Stiles probably twists in his seat to look at Laura, still faking sleep. “That’s not fair at all.”

 

“You told Scott, didn’t you?”

 

“Ugh, not really. I kinda let it slip one day, and he looked extremely disturbed. Then he laughed and called Allison, and told _her_ , and -- what? Oh Lydia, sorry, forgot you were on the phone.”

 

Derek huffs. “Just hang up!”

 

“That’s rude,” Stiles snaps, although Laura isn’t sure if it’s at Lydia or Derek. “Lydia, stop yelling at me, you said you were happy and all I can hear is your very filthy language.”

 

Derek groans. “Hang up! She’s worse than Erica, trust me on this, hang up before it’s too late. She’s gonna ask you --”

 

“I am _not_ telling you this, ew. Good Lord, Lydia, you are lewd -- That’s not how sex works!” Stiles interrupts, still on the phone, clearly.

 

Laura is listening greedily. Stiles and Derek are actually holding a sort of conversation without yelling or insulting each other; that gives her pause.

 

“Hang up,” Derek repeats, more firmly.

 

Stiles does, apparently. “Oh my God, that woman is filthy. I turned off my phone, too -- I’m scared she’ll call back.”

 

Derek sighs. “You never listen to me. When I told Erica, she _cackled_ and asked all sorts of -- silly questions. It was just a matter of time until they all knew about it. Boyd totally had a bet going on with Jackson, can you believe it?”

 

“Did he win?”

 

“Yeah. Two hundred bucks -- is that really what you’re getting from all this? They had a _bet going on_. About us.”

 

“Whatever. I’m glad Jackson lost it. What was the bet?”

 

Laura is frozen in place. She’s not even faking anything anymore. She just can’t move. “Jackson was sure we -- that it wouldn’t happen before we were both out of college. Boyd disagreed.”

 

Laura carefully opens one eye, and spots a sign for a rest area in a few miles. She straightens up fully in her seat and declares, making the two traitors jump in surprise, “Pull over when you can.”

 

***

 

Derek gets out of the car, his mind reeling with all the lies he could cough up to explain the conversation she probably overheard. The problem is that he doesn’t know how much she heard, and how long she faked sleeping, and in his panic, he can’t remember if he said anything undoubtedly incriminating, or if he can work with the ambiguity of his own words.

 

Laura is leaning against the trunk, her arms are crossed. Stiles bounces around the car to get to her first.

 

“What’s happening, are you sick?”

 

Derek wants to hide in a hole forever. Laura doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look angry, just confused.

 

“Alright, alright. Just -- don’t freak out okay? I wanted to tell you but Derek --”

 

“Hey! Don’t blame me,” Derek interrupts, outraged. “You were scared shitless of her reaction too!”

 

Laura’s eyes snap back and forth between his face and Stiles’s, narrowing more and more each time one of them opens his mouth. Derek knows what she’s doing, and it makes him even more anxious. They’re digging their own grave.

 

“Oh, you are such a liar.”

 

“Whatever! I don’t want to talk about this!” Derek exclaims, panicked, willing Stiles to shut up.

 

“Well we have to, now that she knows we’re fucking!”

 

Laura straightens up, slowly uncrossing her arms. She gapes at Derek for a full minute before turning to Stiles. Silence falls. Derek turns white. Well, whiter.

 

“You did _not_ know we were fucking,” Stiles says, making it sound like half a question, wincing. Derek throws his hands up, giving up on the whole thing entirely.

 

***

 

“Oh my fucking God,” Laura wheezes out.

 

She’s standing in front of her best friend and her brother and her world is crumbling down. It’s like discovering blue isn’t actually blue but rather a greenish sort of red. Like, what the fuck. No. Blue is fucking blue! Stiles isn’t sleeping with Derek and Derek isn’t having gay sex with Stiles.

 

But the more she thinks about it, the more she feels like a stupid puzzle is coming together. Her minds jumps back to the conversation Boyd and her had at that bar. _You’re oblivious_ , he had said. Suddenly, all the things she had seen but not noticed make sense. So much sense. Blue is actually a greenish sort of red. Shit.

 

She thinks of all the stupid innuendos Stiles had been so fond of lately. It was such a new and strange addition to his personality. She should have known. She remembers her birthday night, and the way she had been drunkenly suspicious of them, the way she couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong. The way Danny had said that they _hated_ each other, like it meant something. And it did mean something. It _does_ mean something. And his text! About their sleeping arrangements that fateful night. _Nobody_ had slept on the floor, that night. Gross.

 

“Oh my God, you totally -- did -- things! On my birthday!  You -- in his bedroom, I saw you!” Laura says, backing away slightly, feeling overwhelmed.

 

She points an accusing finger at their guilty faces. She’s a little tongue-tied, spluttering and trying to make sense of it all.

 

“Technically, it wasn’t your birthday anymore?” Stiles tries. “We were already the day after.”

 

Derek groans and rolls his eyes. He’s very, very red in the face. “Shut up, Jesus fucking christ.”

 

“Sexual tension!” Laura almost screams, and a few other people on the parking lot of the rest area look at them curiously. “Unresolved!”

 

“Well, it’s definitely resolved, _now_ ,” Stiles says, shrugging.

 

“Stiles, _please_ ,” Derek begs, and it sounds like he’s going to cry.

 

Laura flaps a hand at him. “I don’t wanna hear it! You traitors! You liars! You --!” She doesn’t know what to add and leans back heavily on the car. “And yesterday! _You_! You had wet hair, and oh my God Stiles totally came out of the bathroom a second later and Derek was shirtless oh, _no_ , oh no! I’mma need a second here,” she says.

 

Stiles, disturbingly tactful, operates a retreat. “I’ll go get us some snacks,” he declares.

 

Derek doesn’t see it that way though, cause he just glares at him until he disappears in the shop. “Coward,” he mutters.

 

“ _Derek_ ,” Laura says firmly, because she wants his full attention. “Derek, holy shit? Is this true? Tell me this is all a big joke and I got it wrong.”

 

Derek says silent and looks away, stares resolutely at the highway in the background.

 

“So. I have some questions, is that okay?” Laura can see the flush on Derek’s face and she knows her brother enough to understand this isn’t about her and that he’s probably hating all this way more than she is.

 

He jerks his chin once, still not looking at her. “Are you and Stiles dating?”

 

His lips go thinner. Wrong question. Quick, another. “Okay, nevermind. You’re having sex, though, right? Like, regularly?”

 

“Ugh, Laura, can we not?” He drops on the ground, his back leaning against the car. Laura follows him.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She wants to pat his arm or hug him but Derek is stiff and tense and that’s absolutely not an option right now. “I’m not gonna say I saw that coming. I’m really mad at Boyd. And Erica. And Lydia. Fuckers know I’m completely ignorant on these things, and they probably had a blast laughing at the three of us.” She takes a breath. “That said, why didn’t you tell me? How much longer were you going to wait? I thought we were _close_. I thought --”

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurts out. “I just couldn’t. That’s just too weird. He’s your best friend. I hated him. _Hate_ him. I thought you wouldn’t get it. I thought you would laugh. We _are_ close. I just -- don’t want to talk about my sex life with my sister, is that so hard to understand?” He shifts minutely, and Laura lets him speak. Better to let it all out now. “And what if -- what if we don’t last? What then? What if you have to choose between your brother and your _platonic soulmate_? And for the record, it was almost an accident and I didn’t even know I was -- attracted to him until I actually -- did something about it.”

 

He sighs, tension bleeding out of him.

 

“I would never choose between the two of you, dumbass. And if anything does happen -- well, everything would basically go back to normal, cause I’m sorry, but I’m pretty used to Stiles acting like a little shit when he’s around you and you acting like a smug psychopath around him. You’d have to deal with the other. For my sake. Just like you’ve always done, right? Remember when you two brought me back home after that party and the whole time you kept snarking at each other while taking care of me, and you were totally cute and _I love you both_.”

 

Derek huffs a faint laugh. Laura sees it as an invitation to be more light-hearted.

 

“So you like him? How the fuck did I miss that? It was so obvious, I’m the worst.”

 

Derek lets his head thud against the car door. “Yeah, I’m the worst too. I didn’t realize I was flirting this whole time.”

 

“Like brother, like sister. Is that even a saying? So dumb. Are you gonna tell mom and dad?”

 

Derek groans again. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna. You know how mom is. Dad will probably laugh at me. They think I _loathe_ him.”

 

“I thought so too and I’m doing fine. I mean --t hat was a surprise but -- you two _do_ get along well, in a way.”

 

Derek blushes again. “Shut up.”

 

“You do! You’re both assholes and real jerks and you deserve each other.”

 

Stiles comes back from the shop, arms overflowing with junk food. “So? Are we done here?”

 

Derek glares, as always. Stiles makes an obnoxiously innocent face at him. Laura feels stupidly happy for a second. Together or not, dating or not, fucking or not, Derek and Stiles are no different.

 

***

 

“I’ll leave you guys a second,” Laura says, getting up from the ground. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she adds in Stiles’s direction with a mean smirk.

 

Derek watches her going a little further away from the car, getting her phone out her pocket. To yell at the whole gang, he guesses. Stiles wriggles his fingers in front of his face, offering his hand to help Derek up. He takes it, and the momentum brings them closer than intended when he pushes on his feet to stand up. Their noses brush. Derek wonders when this will get old. For now, he lets the low hum of arousal spread in his body and keeps Stiles from stepping back.

 

“What did she say?” he asks, staring at Derek’s lips.

 

“That you don’t deserve me and that you can’t live with us anymore,” Derek says, shrugging.

 

“Oh, ha _ha_ , you are a _comedian_. Seriously are we good? Is she planning to get revenge or --?” Stiles’s hands twitch a little and Derek wonders if it’s because he was going to do something with them. Like wind them around Derek’s neck for example.

 

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

 

“Are you going to kiss me now?”

 

“That’s one hell of a non-sequitur.” Derek keeps his tone light and disinterested, but his heart is working double-time. He tries not to smile and ends up sort of smirking.

 

“Well, are you?” Stiles looks open and honest and Derek doesn’t know what to do with that. So when he leans in, closes his mouth around his lips, and when Stiles teases the seam with his tongue, when both of them sigh in relief at the warmth and wetness of it all --when all of this happens, it feels like he’s agreeing to more than just a kiss.

 

***

 

Laura sends a mass text to her friends, written mostly in all caps, filled with swear words and exclamation points. She calls her mom, to inform her they’re on their way, maybe a little bit late because they stopped to rest a bit.

 

“Did Stiles get sick again?” she hears her dad in the background. Her mom shushes him before asking in a more collected tone, “Did Stiles get sick again?”

 

Laura sorts. “No, we had to make an emergency stop, that’s all.” She turns on her heels to look at Derek and Stiles by the car just in time to see them kiss. She stares stupidly for a few seconds, not listening to one word her mother speaks.

 

They’re the same height, and Laura’s sure Stiles hasn’t finished his growth spurt yet; soon he’ll be taller than Derek. How weird. Her brother’s arms are wrapped low around Stiles’s back, and Stiles’s fingers are playing with Derek’s baby hair at the base of his neck.

 

“Laura, are you still here?”

 

“Yes!” she says, much too loud, turning away again, trying to tune back into the conversation.

 

“When do you think you’ll get home?”

 

“We’ll be there for dinner, I promise. I’ll tell Derek you said hi.”

 

“Can you put him on the phone, I wanted to talk to him. He’s been avoiding my calls, lately.”

 

Laura chances another look behind her. Derek is now pressed against the side of the car, and his hands disappeared under Stiles’s shirt. “Uh... He’s busy.”

 

“It’ll take less than a second!”

 

“His hands are full, he can’t even hold the receiver, we’ll be home in a few hours, you can just badger and baby him when we get there. Bye, I love you!” She hangs up before her mother can get one more word in, just to be safe.

 

“Stop making out like teenagers, and let’s get back on the road,” she screams in their direction, enjoying immensely the look of utter disappointment on Stiles’s face. He looks like somebody took away his favorite toy. Derek just pretends like nothing happened and disappears in the back of the car.

 

“You’re driving,” he tells her when she reaches them.

 

Stiles is a little torn, she can tell, as to where he should sit. If he rides shotgun, he knows Laura will annoy the ever loving fuck out of him with questions about Derek and him -- questions he can’t really answer because Derek is in the backseat. She has leverage too, cause she’s the one with all the candy bars and junk food, so if he refuses to humor her -- no food.

 

On the other hand, If he rides in the back with Derek, it might be awkward because _she_ ’s there and Derek will probably ignore him the whole time, and Stiles gets bored so quickly it’s almost sad.

 

Laura watches his struggle from the front seat, already turning the key in the ignition. She takes pity on him when she sees that Derek is resolutely looking the other way, obviously pretending Stiles doesn’t exist again. Laura throws a few Reese’s cups next to Derek.

 

“Come on, sit in the back and I’ll feed you the rest of the way,” she says.

 

Stiles’s face lights up like a Christmas tree and he climbs in enthusiastically, chasing the little chocolatey goods with flailing hands. He crows when he picks all of them up from the seat, and immediately crams one into his mouth. Laura is already driving away, back onto the highway.

 

“You are so weird,” Derek says from behind her.

 

“You are so boring,” Stiles replies around the sticky peanut butter.

 

***

 

Night is falling down when they reach Beacon Hills. Laura is singing along to a song on the radio, and Stiles is dozing off, his head propped up against the window. His eyes look glazed and he’s all relaxed and loose, with one hand on his stomach, clutching the last wrapping of the candy he ate. Derek can’t believe he devoured all that. He still has a smear of chocolate on his cheek and Derek’s fingers keep twitching, trying to reach across the small space separating them to wipe it away with his thumb. Maybe with his tongue, even.

 

He knows Laura will drop Stiles off to his place in less than twenty minutes and he’s kind of anxious. Stiles finally notices him staring, and he smiles a little, just a small upturn on the corner of his mouth.

 

“You’ve got something here,” Derek says lowly, as to not throw Laura off her rhythm from her karaoke experience in the front seat. He gestures vaguely at Stiles’s face.

 

Stiles licks messily around his lips, trying to clean an inexistent streak of dry chocolate. “Better?”

 

Derek shakes his head. He lifts his hand and brushes it against his cheek. Stiles is frozen in place, looking at him straight in the eyes. It’s a little unsettling. The chocolate stain stays where it is in spite of his effort. He makes a little noise of annoyance.

 

“Still there?”

 

“Yeah -- just --” And he sees in Stiles’s eyes the precise moment they get the same idea. Derek is too awestruck to move his hand away when Stiles turns his head a little to the left to suck the tip of his thumb in his mouth, making it damp enough to clean the chocolate. Derek’s lips part a little when he feels Stiles’s tongue coat his finger with saliva, and then it’s over, and Stiles is turning the other way again. Derek swipe his thumb over the dirty patch of skin. It reveals a little mole under it.

 

Derek opens a window because it’s a little too hot in there, all of a sudden. “I love it when you blush,” Stiles says, low enough to be heard by him only.

 

“I’m not blushing I have allergies.” Derek scowls at him.

 

“Allergies to my hotness,” Stiles says flatly.

 

“Allergies to your everything.” Derek sighs, because that’s not even a real lie. He does have strange reactions to Stiles’s presence, in a way.

 

Stiles laughs quietly. “Whatever, I think it’s cute.”

 

Derek doesn’t really like to be called cute, because he just isn’t. But Stiles says it with such fondness that he can feel more heat exploding around his face and -- damn it.

 

Laura turns off the radio. “Hey, we’re almost there, Stiles,” she informs him, looking at him in her mirror.

 

“Okay,” he replies quitely, glancing furtively at Derek. “Call me tomorrow, yeah?” he asks her after a beat, and Derek knows the question was addressed to him.

 

Laura nods, turning into the Stilinski driveway. “I’ll come by tomorrow to say hi to your parents properly, right now I just want to go home and sleep.” Then she looks at Derek with a sad look, like Stiles is going off to war or something. It's _ridiculous_ and he doesn’t know why but it’s what makes him unfasten his seatbelt to follow Stiles out the car.

 

He’s already got his monstrous suitcase out of the trunk and he expectantly looks at Derek with an uncharacteristically shy smile. Laura stays in the car, bless her.

 

“So, I guess I’ll see you around?”

 

“Come over at dinner next week,” Derek says.

 

Stiles smiles more frankly, nodding. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes. “We already did that scene.”

 

“The kiss was good though, I’m trying to recreate the conditions to --”

 

Derek cuts him off with a quick peck on the lips. Stiles sways into his space, chasing his mouth after it leaves his skin. He groans a little when Derek doesn’t oblige him. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says against his lips.

 

“That’s cheesy and also very unlikely.”

 

“I’ll fuck you in my childhood bed,” Stiles says then, in the same tone of voice, daring him to call him out on his cheesiness or unlikeliness.

 

“I hate you,” Derek mumbles, embarrassed with all the filthy images assaulting his brain.

  
“How much?” Stiles asks, a deliberate smirk stretching his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I have a few more ideas for this universe so I'm making it into a serieeeeeessssss ughhhhhhhhhhh


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